


TAZ Amnesty Winter Fills NSFW

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Bigfoot - Freeform, Blindfolds, Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Collars, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, Indrid Cold making poor life choices, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mix-Ups, On the Run, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Santas, Sex Toys, Sexting, Spanking, Strangers to Lovers, Teratophilia, Trans Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone), Trans Barclay (The Adventure Zone), Trans Duck Newton, Vibrators, indruck, little red riding hood metaphors, local bear loves disaster moth, sternclay, sugar daddy in potentia Joseph Stern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Cross-posted from Tumblr, all based on reader requests from a list by Veronica Bunch.
Relationships: Barclay/Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone), Barclay/Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone), Barclay/Indrid Cold/Duck Newton/Agent Stern, Dani/Aubrey Little, Duck Newton/Agent Stern, Indrid Cold/Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone), Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	1. The Gift the Keeps on Giving (Sternclay)

**Author's Note:**

> 17: I get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend so…sorry about all the sex toys.

Joseph Stern has many regrets. 

He regrets getting frosted tips in high school

He regrets not switching from his chemistry major sooner. 

He regrets the actions that lead to that one meme. He will not name the meme. He is trying so hard to leave that legacy behind. 

But in this moment, he regrets not buying more wrapping paper. 

Three weeks ago, his workplace set up its secret santa exchange. He, to his delight, pulled the name of his workplace crush: Barclay Cobb. 

Two days later, Barclay announced he was taking a sabbatical, for lack of a better word, to write a cookbook. Stern was excited for him; Barclay was an amazing cook, and had catalyzed the Youtube presence of the _Foodie_ test kitchen (and he had the kind of body Stern wanted to lick whipped cream off of ). He deserved good things, and Stern just knows the book will be a hit.

And so Stern had said goodbye and good luck to him a week ago, with the rest of the test kitchen team, with a promise to bring his secret santa gift by his house when it came in the mail. He put it in a nice, rectangular box, and wrapped it in his cryptid christmas paper. 

It was only when Barclay opened the lid that he realized his horrible, horrible error. 

“Uhhhh” Barclay lifts the burgundy leather collar, confusion plain on his handsome face. 

“Ohmylord. Oh, I’m so sorry. That was for my…friend.”

“Friend?” Barclay raises a dark eyebrow.

“My ex.” 

“Okay, that I believe.”

“I…this is so embarrassing. I got you a copy of that super-rare vegan soul food cookbook you’d been wanting, I was so pleased with it and I must have mixed up the packages, they’re the same size and I like that paper so it’s all I have-”

“It is very you.” Barclay smiles, nodding his head at the torn paper covered in a pine tree motif with Bigfoot (wearing a santa hat) and mothman peeking out. 

“I’m sorry, it must still be at my house. I was looking forward to impressing you with my gift giving skills.”

“Dunno” Barclay sorts through the box, “if this is any indication, I think I can tell how much thought you put into it.” 

There is not a word, in English or any other language, to describe the mixture of mortification and desire he feels when Barclay takes the items out, eyeing them appraisingly. 

“I mean this, this is like the extra-fancy wand, right?”

“Yes.” He manages.

“And the strap-on in here looks real high-quality. Pretty cool looking too. Not to mention the underwear, looks like the kind of thing you’d want to take off with your teeth.” When Barclay meets his eyes, a dark curiosity glitters in them. Then he must notice the stress radiating off Stern, because his demeanor drops back to his usual gentle friendliness. 

“Hey, it’s no big deal okay? Remind me to tell you sometime about when I mixed up the present for my sister with the present for my boyfriend.” He looks down at the box again with a strange, secretive smile, “I know why you ended it with that guy. I still think he was serious dickhead if he was being that shitty to the kind of guy who’d give him this.”

Stern laughs, bitter, “You don’t know the half of it. Two of those items are for me, with the idea being I’d wear them for him as part of the gift. The underwear and the uh, the collar. I didn’t even want a collar, but he was so into the idea and I thought it might make him happy.”

Barclay makes a noise Sterns’ heard in the past, the one that indicates he’s disapproving of something but trying not to be harsh. 

“I know, it was a flawed plan-”

“I’d say it was a generous thought directed at someone who didn’t deserve it.”

A smile creeps across Sterns face, and he glances at the fire to avoid saying something impulsive.

“Whelp” Barclay whacks his thighs and stands, “how about a drink? I’ve got some mulled cider I could heat up.”

“You don’t want me to go?”

“Course not, I want you to pass on all the hot office gossip I’m missing.”

“You mean like how Indrid managed to explode a container during the ginger beer episode of ‘Make it Ferment’?”

Barclay rumbles out a laugh as Stern follows him to the kitchen, “You’d think he’d have learned after what happened with the Kombucha. I think Duck’s camera still smells a little fermented after that blow-up. How’s ‘Make it Perfect’ going?” 

“Good.” Stern opens a cabinet and grabs two mugs, “I’m planning out the one for cheese plates, since it can go out before new years.”

“Nice.”

They talk shop for awhile, moving back to the living room. When they both need refills, Stern hops up to get them. When he arrives back in the room, it’s only through professional training that he doesn’t drop both mugs to the floor. 

Barclay is wearing the collar, examining his reflection in (mercifully curtain covered) window. 

“Dunno, might hold onto this, think the color looks good on me. That alright with you?”

“Guh.” Stern responds.

“Seems a shame to let a good gift go to waste.” Barclay turns to look at him. He’s never seen that expression on Barclay’s face before, most likely because if Barclay made it on camera, the video would get taken down for containing obscene content. 

“Ah, uh, you’re, you’re quite right.” Stern sets the mugs down on the coffee table, wipes his hands nervously on his jeans. 

“You okay?” Barclay leans against the mantle and stays put, and Stern realizes why; he’s not going to push this. He’s letting Stern come to him only if he wants to.

“I, ah, yes. Totally fine.” He crosses the hardwood, joining Barclay by the fire, “I was simply taken aback with the revelation of why my ex was so eager to see me in that.”

“Oh?” Barclay pushes off the mantle, turning so the two of them are face to face. He keeps his hands to himself, but there’s micrometer of space between their bodies. 

“I have no interest in wearing it, as I said. But seeing you in it…” a spark of confidence flickers up his arm and he reaches out to hook a finger into the small metal loop at the front of the collar. He pulls down just as Barclays hands fly to his shoulders, joining them in a kiss. Keeping one hand on the metal, he glides the other up to Barclays cheek, beard tickling his palm as the taller man deepens the kiss. 

“Is this really okay?” Barclay whispers, kissing his neck. 

“Yes, good lord yes.”

“Knew it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were checking my ass while I was shooting “Make it Gourmet.” Dani swore she noticed it when she was editing footage together.”

“Ohmygod.” Stern giggles, embarrassed, pressing his face into Barclays sweater.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she cut all those out. Probably.”

“Noooo, I can’t handle being another meme, Barclay, it will break me.”

“Shhh” Barclay pets his back soothingly, broad chest now shaking with laughter, “you chose a career on the internet. This is your fate.”

“Is that a better or worse fate than people writing in and demanding a do a video about making gourmet NERDS?”

Barclay shudders, and Stern kisses his nose. When their eyes meet, Barclay grins.

“Y’know, the rest of that gift doesn’t have to go to waste either.” Barclay laughs again, “and judging by how excited you look, got a feeling you’ve already thought of some ways to use them on me.”

“And on me. Do you have a harness?”

“Yep, in the bedroom, if you wanna-”

“Ah, um, actually” he glances over to his right, then back at Barclay, unsure if he should say it.

But Barclay is too quick on the uptake

“The table, huh?” He loops his arms around Sterns shoulders. 

“Please.” So much blood is heading south he’s amazed his other organs aren’t shutting down.

Barclay kisses him tenderly, “Get naked and wait for me.”

Stern does exactly that, being sure to fold his clothes and set them aside in a chair before heading to the table. 

“Now there’s a sight.” Barclay steps in from the hallway, naked save for the harness. Pauses to kiss Stern eagerly before retrieving the strap-on from the box while Stern rests his elbows on the polished wood. 

“It looks kinda monster-y. I like it.”

“It’s the uh, ah, ahem, ‘bigfoot’ model.” He mumbles.

Barclay laughs again, bending to kiss along Sterns shoulder blades as he teases at him with the toy, “Very on-brand, babe. Like a man who knows what he wants.”

“Even if what he want’s is strangeOH, _fuck_.” He spreads his legs wider as Barclay pushes in.

“Someone got a thing for size?” A kiss to the back of his neck. 

“Yes, _yesyes_.” Stern presses back, demanding. 

“Easy, tiger, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Barclay, I have been fantasizing about this for months, please, if you don’t start fucking me I’m going to make an utter embarrassment of myself.”

“Don’t have to beg, baby, I’ll take good care of you.” Strong hands grip either hipbone, and then his arms are struggling to keep him up as Barclay pounds into him. 

“Shit, oh my _lord_ that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Barclay growls, biting his ear, “gotta say, the way your ass moves when I fuck you is real fucking hot.”

“Nhmmmm.” Stern presses his forehead to the table. Barclays feet nudge his own aside, forcing his stance almost uncomfortably wide. 

“I’d hold tight.”

“How, it’s a tablAHahhhnnn, fuck, don’t stop, please.”

“Not unless you come or collapse. Fuck, Joseph, you’re amazing, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“As, fuck, as often as you want.” Stern tries to move one of his hands down to stroke his dick, finds he can’t manage that and balancing at the same time. Barclay suddenly shoves him forward, pressing his pelvis against the table. Barclay hunches over him, continues fucking him as one hand snakes around to rub him off. The other rests a top Sterns own, Barclay holding his hand tightly as he whimpers from the new stimulation. 

“That’s it, babe, that’s it. C’mon, I wanna make you come so bad, yeah, you like when I say that don’t you?”

Stern nods with a needy whine.

“Then lemme tell you, this is just the first course, handsome. Gonna find every way to make you come, gonna fuck you so much neither of us is gonna be able to stand for weeks.”

“Please, please, ohlordohfuck, yes, Barclay, _yes_ AHhnnnn.” As soon as his orgasm hits, Barclay stops, pulling out carefully. He stays curled over Stern, stroking his hair and kissing up and down his back. 

“That was, that was incredible.”

“Got that right, babe.” Barclay straightens, and Stern does the same, turning to kiss him hungrily. 

“Take that off and get the magic wand.” 

Barclay practically rips the harness away. Grabs the vibrator as Stern hops up to sit on the table.

Barclay hands him the toy, “how do you wanna do this?” His words die into a gasp when Stern grips his collar. 

“I’d like to get you off with this” he turns on the wand, “would you like that too?”

“Yes.”

“Ask politely.” He tugs on the collar and Barclay moans.

“Please, babe, please, I want it so bad.”

“Mmmm, I can tell. You’re soaking.” Stern purrs, hovering the wand only an inch away from Barclays dick. 

Barclay makes a panting, pleading whine, and that’s good enough for Stern.

“FUCK _fuck_ , oh baby yeah, fuck yeah.”

“What do say?” He tugs again. 

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou-oh shit, just little more babe please I’m so fucking close.”

Stern presses harder, yanking Barclay the rest of the way down for a kiss. The taller man whimpers into his mouth as he comes, shaking even after Stern pulls the vibrator away. 

Then he promptly falls to his knees, resting his head in Sterns lap. 

“So, uh, that was, wow.”

“I’m taking that as a sign you liked it unless you tell me otherwise.”

“Liked is putting it mildly, babe.”

Stern pets his hair, sighing happily. 

“Would you, uh, like to stay a bit longer?”

“Absolutely.”

“If you wanna put on your clothes, I was gonna make dinner. I mean, you don’t have to put them on.”

“Being naked is not in the least bit kitchen safe. And I should clean this part of your table before I join you.”

“True on both counts.” Barclay stands, offering Stern a hand he doesn’t need ut takes all the same to get off the table. 

“You know,” he muses as he pulls his underwear back on, “we didn’t get a chance to use the underwear.”

“Don’t worry,” Barclay only half-dressed, wraps him in a hug from behind, “you can wear ‘em tomorrow when I take you out.”

Stern turns, kisses him, “That sounds perfect.”


	2. Car, Trouble (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5: your car slid into a snowbank and i’m the mechanic that comes to tow you

Two hours.

Two fucking hours, that’s how far this guy is from town. But because he’s three hours from the one to the west, it’s Duck’s company that got the call from AAA for a tow. On night three of what’s forecasted as a week-long snowstorm. And because it’s that kind of job, the call came in at 4:45 pm. At least he’ll get overtime for this. 

Being out of Kepler means the radio has real stations, half of them playing blocks of pop hits and the other half blaring Christmas carols. Duck doesn’t mind either, settles on listening to crooning about sleigh bells and winter wonderlands as he tries to keep the truck from sliding into snow piles. 

He’s all prepared to be aggravated at whoever was clueless enough to get themselves stranded and stick him with the four hour round-trip, but the closer he gets to his destination the more he sympathizes. Because this is a rural two-lane highway and not a major through-road, the maintenance is spotty at best. Couple that with the still-falling snow and he’s just glad the guy was in the kind of accident where he could still make a call after it.

The last half-hour he’s down to thirty miles an hour, lets out a groan of relief when the dead taillights of a car reflect back at him. Once he positions the truck and hops out, he rolls his eyes; the sedan doesn’t have snow tires or chains on, something even a person with a Nevada license plate should have known to carry north.

Duck wonders if being unprepared is a habit when the driver steps out in far too light a coat for the weather, shuddering and stuttering out an “Th-thank g-goodness.”

“Guessin you’re Mr. Wilde?” 

Pale hair falls over red glasses as the man nods. With his hood up, he looks owlish, guarded. He’s all limbs and edges, and Duck can’t help but think of a stray cat that needs a warm bed and some food. 

“Go ahead and get up into the passenger seat. Heat ain’t runnin, but it’s sure as heck warmer than out here. I’ll get her hitched up and we can get going.”

Another nod, the man hunching forward as he scurries into the truck. This is the easy part, getting the damaged car hooked to the truck and freeing it from the snow. The hard part comes when they turn towards town, two hours of darkness and icy roads ahead of them. 

“I’m so sorry you had to come all this way. I, ah, did not intend to crash, nor to do so this far from help.”

“Hey, it’s what we’re here for. Gonna be slow goin on the way back, since it’ll be real fuckin embarassin to call a tow truck for a tow truck.”

A snicker, “I picture them as growing exponentially larger, like nesting dolls. A tow truck towing a tow truck towing a tow truck towing a car would be the size of a semi.”

Duck chuckles, “Yeah, it’d be a sight. And a fuckin nightmare for anyone who got behind it.”

The cab is warming nicely, so his passenger pulls back his hood. In the darkness he can tell the pale hair is metallic silver, and there’s a hell of a bruise blooming on his forehead. Duck’s never seen anyone quite like him, and if their survival didn’t depend on his concentration, he’d spend the next hour studying him.

“Damn, got banged up in the crash huh.”

“Yes.” The man gingerly touches the bruise, sighs, “It’s my own fault for being careless.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, nearly spun out on the way to get you from the damn black ice.”

“I wish I could say that was the sole cause, but I was also asleep.”

Duck bites back the urge to scold him; he wants him to be comfortable around him and besides, even if Duck is having a crappy night, this guy is having an even worse one.

“Wouldn’t be the first person who thought they could make it one more town before stoppin for the night and was wrong.”

“True. It’s just that, ah, I’ve been driving three days straight without sleep.”

“Jesus Christ, you on the lamb or somethin?”

In his periphery, he swears the taller man flinches. 

“No. Just having bad luck with a chaser of poor choices.”

“Gotcha.” Duck drums on the wheel, “so, uh, Mr. Wilde, what do you do when you ain’t stuck in the snow?”

“I draw. And Indrid is fine…” he peers awkwardly at Duck’s name tag, “Duck.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Ah. Are you a mechanic as well as a driver?”

“Yep. Do it part-time when I’m not workin at the national forest. Friend of mine, Ned, runs the garage attached to the Cryptonomica.”

“I recall seeing that when I drove through. Quite the Jacks of all trades, you two,”

“Most of Kepler’s got more’n one job. It’s the kind of place that’s always losin fundin or people, just barely stayin afloat.”

“One sympathizes. Do you like your jobs?”

“Trained in forestry, so it’s always what I’ve wanted to do. The mechanic stuff,” Duck shrugs, “nice workin with my hands and beein able to help folks out. And I ain’t half bad at it.”

“I certainly appreciate your efforts. I–wait, hold on, I’m sorry but I need to…” he turns up the radio, playing what Duck assumed was Santa Baby from the melody.

“He _is_ saying ‘buddy.’ What in the world? Why would you change it?”

“Can’t have the fella in the red velvet suit thinkin you’re gay.” Duck jokes. 

“Heaven forbid.” Indrid smiles, and Duck likes the expression so much he decides to see if he can get him to do it again.

“You wanna hear a slightly inappropriate joke?”

“Absolutely.”

“How come Santa don’t have any kids?”

“How come?”

“Because he only comes once a year and it’s down a chimney.”

There’s a beat and then Indrid guffaws, covering his face with his hands as his whole body shakes with amusement, “that was horrible, do you have any more?”

Thank god he’s got a wealth of bad jokes tucked in his brain. When he exhausts those he and Indrid trade brainteasers, stopping now and then to talk about their lives. The taller man asks Duck about his jobs, about the woods, and the town, and offers a few anecdotes in exchange. Duck senses they’re about they’re set in a time in his life that’s further away than Indrid would like. 

Indrid also readily shares the snacks from his small backpack. Duck eats what he can while still safely piloting the car. Then nearly takes them across the yellow line when Indrid unwraps a Starburst with his tongue, and prays the man will stay in Kepler long enough for Duck to take him to dinner.

————————————-

Given he was expecting a painfully awkward trip at best, Duck’s friendliness is a welcome surprise. Now that they’ve been stuck in the car together for close to two hours, Indrid is confident saying this is most fun he’s had talking to someone in a long time, even before things went all to hell. 

It helps that Duck is the picture you’d get if you googled “Indrid Cold’s type”; sturdy, handsome in an unassuming way, undoubtedly pleasant to cuddle, with muscles that Indrid is positive could hold him up against a wall for at least a few minutes. In another life, one that’s so far away he fears he imagined it, he’d wait until they were done with the business portion of this evening, then slip Duck a card with his name in silver letters and his hotel room number on the back. The man is so genuine in his kindness too, Indrid feeling safer in the dark with him than he’s felt in years.

Which makes him feel even worse about what he’s going to do.

“Not too far now.” Duck turns the windshield wipers up a notch, “thank fuck for that.”

Indrid curls forward, holding his stomach, “I, ah, I really hate to say this, but I’m afraid my gas station lunch is coming back up.”

“Shit, okay, lemme pull over.” Duck guides the truck onto the side of the road, “do what you gotta do.”

His hands are on his lap, keys still dangling from the ignition. Indrid lunges over, grabbing them and trying to shove Duck into the door in one go. The mechanic is too fast, yanking the keys to his chest.

“What the fuck man!?”

“I’m so sorry about this!”

“Then fuckin stop!” Duck kicks, misses, and Indrid knees him in the stomach as gently as he can.

“I can’t, I need the truck.”

“Are you fuckin car-jackin me right now?”

“It’s not personal.” He gets the keys away, only for the world to flip ninety degrees as Duck tackles him backwards.

“It sure feels like it is!”

Indrid hoped that his survival instincts would kick in hard enough to make up for the exhaustion and that coupled with the element of surprise would bring him success. Instead, his limbs have no power behind them, and all he can do is curse when the driver flips him onto his stomach, trapping his hands behind his back and pinning him with his body weight. 

“Fuck.” It’s a pathetic noise for a pathetic man.

“Explain. Now.” Duck growls.

“I, I, you were right when asked if I was on the lamb.”

“….fuckin _what?_ ”

“It was a set up, and I finally, finally got free, and, and I will not go back, I can’t, but if I’m out a car I need a replacement and-”

“And you almost stole a truck that’s got a goddamn tracker in it.”

“Oh.” He presses his face to the seat in shame.

“Somethin tells me you ain’t a seasoned crook.”

“I’m not a criminal at all! I have no idea what I’m doing. I was just going to drive and drive until I hit the coast, I hadn’t even decided what to do after. I, I’m sorry, I waited until we got close to town so you wouldn’t be too far away to walk home safely. I, ah, I wasn’t prepared for having to do this to someone I like.”

Duck shifts above him, mutters, “what the fuck do I do now” to himself, and tightens his hold on Indrid’s wrists. 

Indrid whimpers, realizing with horror that his body responded to the mechanics of the fight but not it’s context.

Duck freezes at the noise, and when Indrid hazards a peek the mechanic is staring down in disbelief. 

“Are you fuckin hard from this?”

There’s no use in lying, he’s faced worse humiliation than this, “Some. Not on purpose. I, ah, I enjoy rough treatment.”

Duck’s face fills with bitter amusement, “And I like givin it. But not to fellas who nearly steal my truck. Fuckin figures the first guy to flirt with me is doin it for some other reason.”

“That’s not true, my plan involved no flirting.” Indrid huffs, “I was flirting because I think you’re handsome.”

More pressure on his back as Duck leans down to whisper in his ear, grinding against his ass, “Yeah? Were you hopin I’d fuck you in here? Or over the hood when we got back?”

“Maybe.” He manages a smirk.

“Hopin I’ll fuck you now?”

Indrid nods, but Duck doesn’t notice. The mechanic sits all the way back, releasing his hands, “too damn bad, because unlike you, I only take things with permission.”

“C-consider it granted.” 

The hand finds his back again, but instead of shoving or grabbing it strokes up and down, “Indrid, I’m serious. I ain’t doin anythin if the only reason you’re offerin is because you think I’ll hurt you if you don’t.”

“I’m not. I want this, Duck, I want to be with you.” He’s going back to jail one way or another after this, unwilling to consider the thought of hurting Duck to get the keys. He’d rather go back with one happy memory and a few minutes of fun freshly stored in his mind. 

There’s silence, Duck’s hand still as he thinks. Then it comes down hard on Indrid’s ass, “Okay sugar, happy to oblige you. Besides, seems to me you owe me an apology for that sorry excuse for a car theft.” 

Indrid moans loudly when Duck hauls onto his elbows and knees, though it’s the pet name that hits deeper than any of the much-welcome pain. The waistband of his dollar store sweatpants hits his thighs, there’s a pop of something plastic, and then a slick finger is teasing between his asscheeks. 

“Vaseline. Great for keepin your skin from cracking in the cold.”

The finger disappears and he whines, pushing his ass back and getting it slapped so hard he yelps. 

“Nice try. But this ain’t for you, it’s for me. Don’t got a condom and only got a tiny bit of this left and it ain’t enough to fuck you full on.”

“It’s alright, I like the pain, you could use spit or-”

“Nope” another slap, “that turns into the bad kinda pain real quick. Now open your fuckin legs.”

Indrid does so, gasps happily when Duck slides his lubed-up cock between his thighs. 

“Close ‘em and keep ‘em closed. Good, ohfuck _yeah_ that’s good.” The thrusts are already fast, Ducks hands holding his hips in place, “fuck, tell you what sugar, you may be a shitty crook but you’re a damn good lay.”

“Yes.” Indrid moans, scrabbling for a hold on the upholstery.

“Shit, you do like it rough. Like it when I talk like that?” One hand comes down, petting Indrid’s head and brushing his hair away from where it’s stuck over his eyes. 

“So much, Duck, please, please, more, I want more AHgod!” Tears slip past his glasses as Duck hits the right side of his ass over and over again. He’s been treated like a criminal mastermind, made miserable because of it, so being nothing more than an eager piece of ass is a welcome change.

“Then I oughta tell you this is what you get for tryin to get one over on me. Think you can throw my ass out in the cold? Gonna turn yours so red you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

He’s so hard it isn’t even funny, and beneath the wonderful cycle of pain-relief-pain-relief his mind chants _safesafesafesafe_.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m so fuckin lucky you tried that stunt on me, can’t wait to cum all over that cute little ass, ohyeah, _fuck_ , fuckyeah.” He pulls out, cum spurting onto Indrid’s ass and legs and Indrid hears his own voice saying “thank you” as he does. 

As he’s contemplating what form of begging will earn him an orgasm, he’s flipped onto his back, one calloused hand pressing him down by the shoulder while the other jerks him off. He squeaks and squirms, one palm thwacking into the door as his right leg catches the steering wheel. 

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yes.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you bent over for me.”

“TechnicallyAH, you, you’re the one who bent me over.”

Duck jerks him extra hard in reply, grinning. The sight of him is just the right balance of menacing and protective that Indrid only needs two more bucks of his hips before he’s cumming. The mechanic works him through it, squeezing him roughly just to hear him whimper (Indrid’s certain of it).

He sits back and starts putting his clothes in order as Indrid lays there, panting from exertion and the weight of reality on his chest. 

“I don’t suppose you have something I can, ah, wipe off with before you take me to the station?” He asks softly.

“I’m not taking you to the police, Indrid.”

“What? Why?” He bolts up, his mind screaming that he shouldn’t ask too many questions lest it make Duck change his mind. 

“I’m not sure what kinda guy fucks someone and then hands them over to the cops, but I’m damn sure I don’t wanna be one.”

“You’d do that without even knowing the full truth?”

“Wouldn’t mind if you told me.” Duck starts the car, adds “seatbelt” as he pulls back onto the road. 

Indrid gets his pants up and buckles in, huddling in on himself, “As you probably guessed, my name isn’t Wilde. It’s Indrid Cold. Wilde was the man I stole that car from, who also had a very nice AAA plan it seems. I am, or was, an architect. Quite talented, if I do say so myself. And many other people said so, once upon a time. My firm got a contract with a certain large city to design and help build a bridge. I was head of design, and I was certain this would be the project that made my name. It did. Just not how I hoped.”

Duck slows down as they reach the edge of Kepler. 

“Have you ever heard of the Silverlake Bridge?”

“Ain’t that the one that collapsed a few years ago _oh_ , oh shit was that your bridge?”

“Yes. Halfway through the project, I became concerned that certain elements of the design would not be as stable as they needed to be and might collapse without warning. The higher ups said it would require a larger budget to do the new, far safer design, but gave me the go ahead to finish my proposal of the securer model. They accepted that design, and I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, they funneled the money needed for the better bridge into their own pockets, both my bosses and the representatives from the city. Unbeknownst to me, they built the weaker bridge. When it collapsed I” he takes a deep breath, the memories surfacing in a tidal wave, “I was shocked, and prepared to accept responsibility, as I could not understand how the design failed. It was only when the investigation revealed _how_ it failed that I understood my warnings had been ignored and I was being set up as a fall guy. Not only for the collapse, but for the missing funds, my bosses swearing up one side and down the other that they’d given the money to me to manage. They’d had this planned for months, and so had built our communication in such a way that I had no proof the money hadn’t come to me. Thus I was blamed, tried, and convicted, and in the minds of many I am responsible for the death of 67 people.”

The engine shuts off and he looks up to see them in an auto garage. Duck is turned to him, face so sad and sympathetic that Indrid could almost believe..

“You think I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you are. Not sure how, but even though I ain’t much of a liar myself, I can usually tell when someone is bullshittin me.”

“I don’t want to go back to prison.” 

“You won’t.”

“Duck I, I can’t ask you to hide me, that could put you in danger of arrest.”

“There’s all of four cops in Kepler, and I’d bet my life no one here could pick you out of a line-up as a ‘disgraced architect Indrid Cold.’ And if we need a cover story, Ned’s got a knack for ‘em.”

“We?”

Duck cups his cheek and Indrid leans into it, “You and me. Indrid, I think fate is a load of bullshit, but I can’t shake the feelin me pickin you up tonight was meant to be. Lemme help you, please.”

Indrid sets his hand on Duck’s own, “Okay. Ah, where do I stay? I have fifty dollars left.”

“Could stay with me if you want. No strings attached.”

“Is that your way of letting me down gently?”

“My way of saying you don’t gotta fuck me to have a place to live. If you wanna fuck me just because, say the word and I’ll rail you into next week.”

“I’d like both those things so very much. Though right now all I want is to sleep.”

Duck leans forward, kissing him so chastely that the following lovebite is all the more thrilling.

“In that case, sugar, let’s get you home.”


	3. Winter Wedding (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 67\. you were supposed to have a beautiful winter wedding but you were ditched during the vows and my idiot sibling/best friend just cracked a joke about how maybe I’d finally tell you how I feel about you and you h e a r d

She’s not coming.” Joseph whispers over his shoulder. 

“Joe, for all we know she got hung up in a dress emergency or something?” Lily, the best woman and Joseph’s sister, squeezes his shoulder.

When the groom turns his blue eyes on Barclay, the groomsman does his best impression of someone who thinks things will be fine.

“It’s only been five minutes.”

“Her entire wedding party is here without her. And they look as confused as we do.”

Barclay spots a member of the event staff slip in a side door and hand a piece of paper to Indrid, their friend who’s acting as an usher. 

“I, ah, have some bad news.” The pale-haired man joins them at the front of the church, “it seems the bride has had a serious change of mind and will not be joining us.”

Joseph grabs the paper, reading it over as the bridal party crowds around him. The upshot of all the commotion, and the arguing that follows the commotion, is that the bride has indeed called off the wedding and is en route to an airport. 

As the family confirms she’s alright, Joseph picks up the microphone.

“Obviously this is a, um, unexpected turn of events. It’s safe to say no one is getting married today, but everything is still in order for the reception and we’re all dressed up so, um, if people want to stay and take advantage of that, you’re welcome to. You’re also welcome to leave if you want.”

Several groups break off towards the reception hall, and Barclay pulls Joseph aside. 

“Joe, are you sure? I mean, yeah, we’re all here, but I don’t think anyone is gonna hold it against you if you want to send everyone home.”

“It’s important to be flexible.” Joseph replies blithely. Barclay knows his best friend hates when plans change and is unlikely to suddenly lose that piece of his personality at the same moment he lost his fiancee. 

“Besides, I’d hate for that menu you helped us pick out to go to waste.” There it is, the Joseph Stern Professional smile ™, a sign that Barclay’s hunch is right.

“Screw the menu, man, I’m worried about you.” Barclay sets a hand on either of his shoulders. Joseph’s gaze snaps all the way onto him, and he knows he is losing this argument. 

“It’s still my wedding, Barclay. That means I get to run it in whatever way I think best.”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” He steps back, brushes lint from his arm, “you go on ahead. I join you in a sec.”

Joseph nods, turning to stride though the room in his dark suit, while Barclay watches the love of his life walk away.

————————————-

_“Uh, hi, I’m Barclay. You must be Joseph?” Barclay stands in the door of the dorm room, his backpack in his arms._

_“Yes. Um, nice to meet you.” The other guy stands, black hair and well-fitting X-Files shirt making him look like Agent Mulder on his day off._

_“I didn’t choose a side yet, it seemed fair to wait until we were both here. I’m partial to the left but that’s more habit than anything else.”_

_“I’m cool with that. I, uh, I don’t have a ton of stuff to unpack so, uh if you need help let me know.”_

_“Thank you.” Joseph smiles, taking his face from cute to heart-stoppingly handsome, and Barclay decides he hit the roommate jackpot._

Barclay didn’t fall for Joe so much as cliffdive, throwing himself after the feeling he got whenever Joe laughed at a joke or told him a secret or talked for fifteen minutes about the methodology flaws in Ghost Hunters. Yes, Joe was hotter than convection oven and Barclay wanted to fuck him on the floor of every space they ever lived in, but more than that Barclay was so happy with him, and his friend felt the same way. 

The problem was, Barclay had a shy streak and was far from the only person to see Joe as a catch. And so they dated other people, sometimes happily and sometimes not, but never each other. By the time Joe met Iris, Barclay’s unrequited love had been thrumming in him so long it was no more than background noise. So when Joe ran proposal ideas by him, announced the weddings, asked Barclay to stand up with him, Barclay felt genuine happiness for him and the woman he loved. There’s no rule that says one cannot feel joy and knife-in-the-gut sorrow at the same time.

He’s only gotten better with age he thinks as Joe works the room, fielding condolences with ease. Barclay helped him choose the suit, black with blue lines in the stitching, because it flattered but did not flaunt the well-maintained figure beneath. The last time Barclay saw him in just his underwear was when they lived together after college, and he fumbled his phone when he saw him at the beach last summer. He can picture it so clearly, what that body looks like under those clothes, and it makes him want to scream

“This whole day has been full of surprises.” Indrid sits down next to him, glass of soda in hand. 

“Kinda figured you and Duck would head home.”

“Most of our friends are here, and the food looks good. Not to mention we’re both worried about-” Indrid nods towards Joseph.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I admire his holding it together but, like, what if Duck had left you at the altar?”

“I’d have turned into a hideous red-eyed monster and flapped screeching into the night.”

“……”

“That was a joke.” Indrid grins. 

“Right. Man, hard to tell with you sometimes.”

“While this is an upsetting situation, there is a bright side; maybe now you will finally tell Joseph how you feel.”

A crash makes them both turn in their seats; Joseph is wiping his dropped (plastic) cup up with a nearby napkin, well within earshot. 

“Indrid I swear if he heard-”

“Oh, I am certain he did.”

“ _Dude”_ Barclay hisses as Joseph steals an unreadable glance at him. 

“For goodness sake, you two are a good pair. A pair you’ve been dreaming about for years. Tell him.” With that the other man stands, leaving Barclay alone with his thoughts. His thoughts are no help, so he joins Indrid, Duck, Aubrey, and Dani for some cake.

As the venue finally empties, he realizes he hasn’t seen Joe in an hour and panics until he finds him standing (swaying, really) in the staging room. 

“You, hic, know, hic, this explains, hic, why she didn’t want to move until hic, after the wedding.”

“Seems like it’s for the best, going home to a place where all her stuff is would fucking suck.” Barclay puts an arm around him only for the shorter man to slump most of his weight into his chest.

“The hotel’s paid for, and I have a week hic of vacation and a packed car.”

“You’re not driving anywhere. I can and will lock you in a closet if you try.”

“Or you could, hic, come with me.”

“On your honeymoon?” Thank god Joe is too drunk to notice his voice creeping up.

“On my it’s this or be miserable t home trip. Please, Barclay? We can hic, swing by your place to get your stuff.”

Barclay says yes. Purely to help a friend in need and not because of how said friend feels pressed up against him.

They’re an hour out of the city when Joseph fumbles with his phone, “Change of plans, were going here instead of the hotel?”

“I thought the whole point was the hotel was paid for?”

“It is, by her family, so fuck it. I’ve always wanted to go here and it’s the kind of place she’d never let us stay.”

They take the next exit and find the highway North rather than East. By the time they reach the massive pink building with an airplane in the field out front, snow is falling and Joe is half-asleep, mumbling “okay” when Barclay says he’ll go get them a room. The clerk welcomes him, shows him a list of available rooms, and he notices a high number of them have heart-shaped bed, “tubs for two,” and the word “fantasy” in the name. 

Just as he’s wondering what the fuck Joe’s gotten them into, he spots the perfect room at the bottom of the list. 

“Got a surprise for you.” He helps Joe from the car and unlocks the door. His friend takes in the silver and green decor, the posters, and the UFO-shaped bed. 

“This is the exact one I was hoping for.”

“I know, you giant nerd.”

“Be nice, big guy, or you’re sleeping on the couch.” Joe stumbles to the bed and starts stripping, at which point Barclay zips back outside to get their bags. By the time he’s back, Joe is under the covers and out cold. The king bed does look comfy…

Barclay sleeps on the couch. 

————————————————-

Joe remains dead to the world until almost noon the next day, so Barclay works on his cookbook edits and sends yet another thank-you email to Mama for letting him take his vacation with such little notice. He grabs breakfast, including a sandwich for when Joe wakes up and some aspirin to go with his coffee. 

“I hate myself.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Joe rolls over, dragging the pillow atop his head, “I didn’t mean to get so drunk, it’s just the only way I could get through all those conversations yesterday was to take a drink every time I felt like crumbling.”

Barclay sits on the bed, petting his head, “It’s okay, man, getting me to drive you to a weird sex hotel is not the worst thing you’ve done drunk.”

“I threw up in a mixer one time.”

“And I’ll never forgive you for it.” He laughs when Joe whacks him with a pillow. In the silence that follows, he remembers Indrid’s comment, and wonders if Joe does too. 

“…Is this really a sex hotel? I just thought it was kitsch aimed at couples”

“Go look at the tub.”

Joe groans, stepping out of bed in just his–god help him–silk boxer briefs. They must have been under the suit. 

“Are these…they are, there are handcuffs hanging by the tub. Well, weird as that is, I’m taking a bath.”

The day goes in an oddly non-awkward direction after that. They’ve lived together often enough that getting dressed and clean in close quarters is nothing new. Joe votes for hiding from the world bit longer, so they settle in on the very squishy bed and watch a silver plated T.V, Joe laughing whenever Barclay yells at cooking shows they way other people yell at football games. 

He still sleeps on the couch that night. 

The next day Joe is up bright and early, suggesting they drive to a nearby tourist trap, using his phone to pick out a breakfast place that serves Barclays favorite local coffee blend. They follow that same process the next two days; find some strange roadside attraction or nearby bookstore, eat, and return back to the motel to lay side by side on the bed and to read or watch T.V.

It’s as they’re wandering around a strange, knock-off Carhenge that Joe sighs, “I sort of saw it coming, you know? Iris leaving. I proposed because I cared about her, but she was the one who brought it up, and every time we were visiting her family or she got off the phone with them, she’d bring it up more forcefully. I think she was under more pressure to settle down than I grasped. If our places were switched, I might have run too. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to marry me.”

Barclay crunches to a stop in the snow “Why the fuck not?” 

“Because I’m exactly the kind of guy you’d want to bring home to your family but not spend your life with. My job has weird hours and travel, my non-work clothes have cryptids on them, I can be too particular, and I’m not that exciting for someone whose job is special agent-”

“No, fuck that, you’re a catch.”

“You’re just used to me, big guy. Your objectivity is in question.”

“Yeah, well, you’re even more used to you, so I’m really the more objective one here.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” Joe stares at his footprints, then elbows the cook, “come on, lets go get lunch.”

Barclay is still full and happy, having warmed up via a soak in the tub (where he thought of four different ways to use the cuffs and then had to calm down his cock enough to get out), when he comes into the main room and finds Joe staring at his phone. 

“Oh shit, did she get in touch?”

“Yes. Iris, um, is on a cruise ship. As a yoga instructor. She says it’s something she’s dreamed of for years, that she’s sorry for hurting me, but that marrying me would have been a step in a life she did not want to lead. So. That’s that.” He puts the phone face down, cards his fingers through his hair, “Lord almighty I wish she’d just said no when I asked.”

“Me too.” Barclay imagines a different past, where Joe asked him instead, where he said yes because it’s what he’s been dreaming of since he was twenty-two. Where Joe is sitting in front of him, not sad-eyed and tired, but happy as can be. 

———————————————

This hangover is somehow worse than the one the morning after his non-wedding. Then again, he drank more in a shorter period, hoping to drown out the memory of the words on the screen. 

Or the words he overheard at the reception.

_“Tell him how you really feel”_

He’s had his suspicions about Barclay from time to time, most frequently when they were younger and he felt those deep brown eyes on his ass every time he turned around. But Barclay never took a chance; there were times after break-ups when Joe is certain anyone who was interested would have taken advantage of him being vulnerable and available, but instead Barclay cheered him up, the same way Joe did when Barclay’s relationships ended. Stern concluded neither of them wanted more. 

He would have taken more in an instant. His love for Barclay walked the line between romantic and platonic, and he would have crossed it the moment Barclay asked him to.

Now, he’s bathing with his eyes shut because any light is murder on his skull, his best friend waking up on the couch where he’s insisted on staying because clearly Joe’s lost his appeal. Who’d want to sleep with someone who got roaring drunk and needed babysitting?

He pops aspirin, drinks water, and lays down with his sleep mask over his eyes. Barclay moves around the room, talking softly in that gentle baritone that, not for the first time, makes Stern wonder what he sounds like when he cums. 

“You want me to run and grab breakfast?”

“No, I can get it for both of us. Lord knows you’ve done enough for me this week.”

“You gonna go downstairs blindfolded?”

“For you, I’ll risk a headache OW, owow.” His back locks up just as he tries to sit upright.

The bed sags, “Holy shit man, you’ve got a huge knot right here.”

“My back always does that when I’m stressed, it’ll be fine.”

“Nuhuh, lay down and let me see if I can get it out.” Barclay nudges him onto his stomach and he flops willingly, mask still on. 

“You don’t need to Ohhhhhhhhhnnn, I forget about those bakers hands.”

“Gonna knead you like dough, babe.”

Stern blushes at the name; he was always a little jealous when his friend called his boyfriends that. 

When thumbs pass below his shoulder-blades he moans, arches at the second of pain, “That’s it, that’s the epicenter.”

He can’t stop sighing as Barclay runs his hands over him, can’t stop wiggling his hips at every burst of relief. He pushes his ass up without meaning too, and a bitten-back whine reaches him. 

Fuck it. Even if he’s about to make a huge mistake, he wont have to look Barclay in the eyes.

“What did Indrid mean? At the reception.”

“Uh.” Barclay’s hands still, “uh. That I was worried about you.”

“Try again.” He grinds his ass back deliberately. 

“Joe, please, I’m hanging on by a fucking thread here. You’re underneath me shirtless and I am not gonna do this a dumb way.”

“Do what?”

“Tell you that, that I, no nope, I’m gonna do this back home, at the Lodge or something, make you dinner first and be all romantic so that you don’t think I’m talking with my dick when I say I love you.”

Barclay’s whole body tenses. Joe flips onto his back, regrets the sudden movement, and lifts his sleep mask. He takes one of his frozen hands from the air.

“I love you too.”

“Really?” Barclay sounds like a teenager whose crush just said yes to prom.

“Really. And I don’t think it’s just your dick talking. Although if you wanted to bring it into the equation I wouldn’t mind.” He sends a pointed stare at the half-hard shape under worn denim.

Barclay’s breathing is picking up, his posture trapped between movements. 

“Do you, um, do you want to kiss?”

His friend drops down in reply, smashing their lips together and parting his own imploringly until Stern slips his tongue between them. His big hands cup Stern’s face and his hips grind like he thinks his parents will be home any minute. 

“I love you, I love you so fucking much, Joe, ohgod, babe, please, please let me be good to you” the kisses on his face and neck are messy and the sweetest sensation he’s ever felt. 

“Barclay, you’ve always been good to me.”

“I meant this” he drags their dicks together, “kind of good.”

“Ohlord, yes okay, good point. Get your clothes off and bring me the purple bag that’s in my suitcase.”

Barclay grabs the bag, upends it and sends several sex toys, his strap-on underwear, and lots of condoms onto the bed, undresses as Stern sets one of the toys into the harness. 

“I need to put this back on.” He lowers the mask and hears a soft whine.

“I like seeing your eyes.”

“You’ll see them plenty, big guy, I promise. Now, open yourself up, please.”

“Oh hell yes.” A rip of foil, a pop of lube, and then Barclay straddles him, grunting delightfully. 

“Tell me when you get to three, that should be enough for this toy.”

Pre-cum drips just above the waistband of the underwear, and he gets a thrill remembering the few times he’d caught an accidental glimpse of Barclay’s dick. It’s big, that much he knows, and he’s going to have a lot of fun with it once he’s done reducing the man above him to tears. 

“T-three, babe.”

“Get my dick wet and then get to it.”

When he gets the gasp that tells him the toy is in, he smile and reaches to the underside of the base, “Remember that new dick I was excited about?”

“The vibrating one? OHFUCK, fuckyeahbabe” Barclay jerks and moans, his movements erratic even as he sinks all the way down. Stern echoes him, the pressure of the other man’s body makes the vibrations hit all the right spots. 

“Here’s how this is going to work, big guy; I’m going to get off while I fuck you, and if you can hold off on coming until I’m done, I’ll let you fuck me.”

“God yeah, Joe, fuck me, please.” 

He thrusts up and there’s a thud of Barclay’s hands hitting the headboard. The movement is rough on his stomach but he doesn’t care, grabs hold of thick thighs and fucks him, the other man working his hips in an attempt at rhythm.

The mask catches on a pillow, letting him see Barclay from the neck down. Lord, he looks good like this, big (Stern’s always loved how big he is), letting out the most appealing grunts and growls, dark hair covering most of his softly muscled body…

Wait a minute. 

He claps a hand over his mouth, laughing. 

“Whats, aAAhnnn, what’s so funny babe?”

“Remember when you found that Sasquatch dildo and bigfoot romance novel in my stuff?”

“Hard to forget.”

“I just discovered the source of the fantasy.”

“Are, are you saying I look like bigfoot when I fuck?” Barclay is shaking with laughter. 

“Kind of?”

“I’m putting that on a sign in my den.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late AHHhhnnnfuck, fuck, baby, pleasepleaseplease say you’re close.”

“Why? In a hurry to fuck me?”

“After ten fucking years? _Yes_.”

He focuses on rubbing off on the toy, holding Barclay in place to keep it at the right angle, orgasm building sudden and swift when he works his hips just right and Barclay starts whimpering.

“Shit” he bites out as it ripples through him, aftershocks jerking his hips and making them both groan. 

Barclay climbs off and he wiggles the underwear off and kicks them off the bed. 

“Okay, big guy, now you can fuck meSHIT, lordalmighty you feel good.”

“Fucking knew it would, knew you were fucking made for me Joe, fuck you’re incredible.” The hand that’s not balancing him on the mattress is shoving Sterns left out and up so he can drive deeper, shaking the walls on each thrust. Stern wonders if there’s a way recreate ten years of pent up desire so that Barclay will fuck him with this same furious affection every night of his life.

He’s limp post-orgasm, happy to let Barclay manhandle him to his hearts content. When the other man sits up, dragging his hips into his lap, he moans louder than he had in years. 

“That’s it babe, lemme hear how good it is, fuck, no one’s ever looked this good taking my dick, c’mon, take it all the way, take me all the way while I cum in you.”

“Ohlord.” his toes curl weakly as bucks into him faster and faster.

“Fucking years, years I’ve wanted cum in whatever hole you’d give me, now I’m gonna and you’re gonna feel it for weeks, fuck, babe, that’s it, ohhhnn Joe, _Joe_ ” there’s a final growl as Barclay holds his legs open, the last jolts of his orgasm making his fingers dig into his skin. 

As he’s coming down and pulling out, Stern slips off the mask, blinking at the sight before him. Barclay, flushed and slick with sweat, staring at him like he’s a prize he’d never thought he’d see.

“Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” He winces at how childish it sounds. A week ago he had a fiancee, for gods sake. 

“Yeah, hell yes, wait, Joe, you just got out of an engagement. You, you sure you don’t want some time alone or to, like, explore other options?”

Stern crawls over to him, beard scratching his palm when he turns his cheek, “Barclay, I’ve always been one step away from falling in love with you, and it turns out this was the step. I trust you, I get along better with you than anyone else, and apparently we work well in bed. If, um, if you don’t want this, if it’s too late, I understand. But if you want to be together, I want that too.”

Barclay blinks. Then he blinks again. And then he’s crying and Stern pulls him into the hug.

“Oh lord, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Joe, don’t apologize. I’m so fucking happy, I’ve wanted to hear this for so long it’s just” a shaky breath, “just didn’t expect it to hit so hard. I love you, Joseph, and nothing would make me happier than being your boyfriend.”

They stay like that for awhile, talking in confessions and professions of feelings. Then Joe kisses him, and pulls him towards the bathroom to clean up (and maybe use those cuffs) before heading out to lunch.

—————————————-

Indrid opens the message on his phone, smiles, and texts four words in reply. 

_I told you so_


	4. It's a Party (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 94\. you overhear my ex mocking me for being single at a holiday party and introduce yourself as my SO with a kiss on the cheek but we’ve never spoken before

The things he does to pay for culinary school. 

It’s not the catering gig that’s bothering him; he takes pride in making food at conferences and office parties better than expected. It’s the fucking red, white, and green uniforms they’re making them wear for this one. It’s hot, itchy, and he really would prefer to wear the winter sweater Thacker gave him last year. It’s rustic but festive. It’s also sitting in his car, because no one told him about these uniforms until he got here. 

You can’t spring a surprise uniform on a guy who’s 6’4 and 190 pounds. The vest digs into his stomach, the jacket is too tight, and the pants don’t cover his ankles. 

It’s too bad, this party is pretty fun to work. It’s for a big-name publisher looking to seem hip, so the band is good and the decorations don’t look like the Macy’s Parade puked all over the room. 

The meals aren’t sit down, more a five hour cocktail party with canapes on trays and a spread of food at the back. Barclay sets out a new plate of crostini, wondering if they have enough fruit for the evening, when someone taps his shoulder. 

“How can I help-”

“I need a refill.” James, his ex, smirks at him.

“Not the bartender.” Barclay picks up the empty tray. 

“So?”

“I stopped being the guy to refill your drinks when you dumped me. Go ask whatever poor sap you dragged to this to do it for you.”

“Poor sap? Barclay, you sound like one of those boring mysteries you always read.”

“I’m trying not to swear, I’m at work.”

“Too bad you left me-”

“You broke up with me”

“-You could be enjoying the party instead of serving lukewarm food in a ridiculous outfit. Then again, looking like a clown suits you.”

“Man, c’mon.” Barclay can’t get into it here, James is absolutely the kind of guy who will use it to get him fired.

“Not surprised you haven’t found someone who wants to put up with your whole puppy-dog routine. What good is all that bulk if you’re just a pus-”

“There you are.” An arm snakes around Barclays waist and he freezes. James stands up straight, plastering on a smile.

“I wish I’d know ahead of time this is where you were working tonight. It feels wrong to be out mingling when you’re stuck back here. Oh well, next year.” A soft kiss lands on his cheek and in his surprise he turns to look at it’s source. 

The man is almost his height, trimmer and dressed in a black suit with a blue and silver tie. He’s blue eyed, with jet black hair slicked back and a face that puts every movie star Barclay can name to shame.

Barclay has no fucking clue who he is, or if he’s mistaking Barclay for someone else. He doesn’t seem drunk enough for that. 

“Mr. Stern, it’s an honor to meet you, I, uh, this-”

“This must be the ex you told me about, right, big guy?” Mr. Stern sets a protective hand at the small of his back.

“Uh, yeah. Babe, this is James.”

“So, where at Penguin do you work?”

“I, um, oh, look, someone is calling me. Bye, Barclay, nice seeing you again.”

The hand doesn't leave his back until James is out of sight.

“I’m sorry. He was harassing you and that seemed like the fastest way to make him stop.” Mr. Stern is still standing proud, but his voice is now softer, almost shy. 

“That’s, uh, that’s totally fine. I really appreciate the help. Kinda surprise you saw flirting as more appealing than, like, pretending to be my boss or something.”

“He’d know I wasn’t, trust me. And don’t sell yourself short, Barclay.” Blue eyes lock onto him and scan all the way to his feet, “even a bad fitting uniform can’t hide what you have you offer.”

“Th-thanks.” He’s either going to hide behind the serving tray or ask this guy to take him home and he’s not sure which will reinforce Jame’s “puppy dog” taunt more.

The other man, sensing his discomfort, steps back, “Sorry, that was inappropriate. I know better than to flirt with someone who’s at work and can’t escape. I shouldn’t keep you from doing what you need to do.”

“I get off at nine.” He thwacks the tray over his mouth, “ow. Uh, and I don’t mind talking to you. If you want to. I, uh, I don’t want you to feel like you have to spend this whole party chatting with the help instead of having fun.”

A sigh, “I should go mingle. It’s really okay if I come back?”

“Yeah.” Barclay smiles. There’s no way this guy is coming back; if he’s here single, he’ll have a date in the next five minutes. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s standing a respectful distance away and asking Barclay how this compares to other parties he’s worked. 

“Middle-ground. It’s not the one time I got to work my friends art gallery opening, and it’s not the wedding where someone tried to deck the bride with the chocolate fountain.”

“Oh my lord.” 

“I was in the line of fire and was washing chocolate out of my beard for an hour.”

“No one at home to do it for you?” It’s not subtle, and nor is the glance he gets over the rim of a cocktail glass. 

“Some things I’d rather not ask Mama’s help on.” 

“You still live with family?” There’s no judgement in that smooth voice, just genuine curiosity.

“Oh, no, Mama’s my...I mean she’s technically my boss but she’s also my friend, almost like an older sister. I live above where I work because she owns the whole building and takes in staff rent-free when she can. It’s nice working at her place, since I can cut my hours doing this.” He gestures to the nearby table of season fare, “which does mean I missed the attempted kabob-maiming last week. Relatedly, I’m happy this isn’t an all you can drink party.”

“You and me both. Two years ago Dean Koontz threw a punch. I think it was--oh, um, excuse me, work calls.”

This time, Barclay allows himself a moment of ogling as Stern walks away.

They pick up where they left off when the other man comes back, leading Barclay to mention he’s a cook at Amnesty Lodge .

“Wait, really? I love the Lodge, the food there is incredible.”

Barclay’s skin matches his terrible red pants, “Thanks. The head chef has been letting me do more of the menu and I’m really proud of it.”

“You should be. It’s perfect, although it’s a pity you being in the kitchen means I haven’t seen you sooner.”

He tries to say thank you again, but it comes out a garbled squeak

“Was that too far?” 

“Nope. Uh, it’s uh, just that I’m out of practice flirting or, like, getting compliments. They were pretty thin on the ground in my last relationship.”

“I see.” He’s learning to watch Stern’s eyes rather than the rest of his face, which hardly ever changes from it’s calm, professional set. Said eyes drip with disapproval. 

Old habits of defending people--even ones who are dicks to him--kicks in, “I mean, he kind of has a point. No one wants to date a six foot puppy. Guys like me are supposed to be all in-charge and shit like that.”

Stern raises an eyebrow, “maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.”

“Got any ideas on where I, uh, should be looking?” He takes a half-step towards Stern, standing up straighter. Stern doesn’t move an inch, but gives him a proud smirk. The pride is directed at Barclay.

“Lots. And I’ll share them as soon as you’re off the clock.”

“Don’t I even get a hint?” Another step.

“No, Barclay, you don’t. You’ll just have to show me you can be patient.” His tone changes, laced with the promise of a hidden prize that Barclay will do anything to earn. 

He just manages to whisper out “okay” as Stern is called away again. When he comes back, Barclay setting out clean plates and more silverware. They talk about restaurants, about Barclay’s friends and all the ways he tries to help them. Barclay endeavors to not go into full begging mode in public by looking at Sterns wrists rather than literally anywhere else on his body.

“What are those things in your cufflinks?”

“The Hodag. It’s a cryptid from Northern Wisconsin, and a really excellent example of completely fabricated cryptid that nevertheless goes on to have a life of it’s own. It’s very common in small towns, since if it goes well it acts a tourist draw. In fact, there’s some indication that even the Loch Ness Monster began as just such a hoax and-” He snaps his mouth shut, clears his throat, “sorry, I try not to talk shop at these things. It, um, tends to get on people’s nerves.”

“But I wanted to hear the rest. I mean, I have a high info-dumping tolerance because of one of my friends, but also you clearly know your stuff and I have no clue about any of it so please keep talking?”

Stern’s face is full of excitement, and he grows more animated as he talks. It’s the cutest goddamn thing Barclay’s ever seen, and he saw Dr. Harris Bonkers, his friend’s rabbit, as a baby bunny in a bow-tie. 

He clocks out two minutes after nine, and Stern is waiting for him near the doors to the staging room. 

“Are those the only clothes you have with you?”

“No. I have nicer stuff in the car that I planned on wearing.”

“Go get it. Here, I’ll walk down with you so you won’t have trouble getting back in the building.”

After jogging to his car while Stern waits for him in the gold and silver tinseled lobby, the older man guides him to an elevator. He’s pretty sure Stern is older than him; he’s a big deal, but not in some sort of prodigy way, which means he needed some time to get so well-known. 

They’re so busy coming up with Cryptid-themed ice cream flavors that Barclay doesn’t notice the floor number until they step out into a darkened hall.

If Stern brought him up here so they could have a quick fuck, he’ll jump for joy. 

“My office is this way. I figure you might like changing not in front of your co-workers or in a bathroom.”

Damn it, why does he have to be considerate instead of horny?

The office Stern brings him to is modestly sized with a huge bank of windows on the one side, facing out over the city. From here he can see apartments, stores, restaurants, all lit up in festive colors, trees dotting the little boxes of light. 

Stern locks the door, leans back against it, and nods at the clothes in Barclays arms, “Put them on.”

“Here?” He eyes the wide windows, the fact that the other man makes no move to leave or turn around.

“Yes.”

He manages, around the heart trying to hammer up his throat, “Are, uh, are you gonna watch?”

“Do you want me too?” There it is, the immediate softness in his voice, and Barclay understands that if he says no, he’ll have his privacy.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He reaches for the vest, gets the first button and goes for the second in a hurry. 

Stern raises his hand in a ‘pause’ gesture, “Slow down.”

“Yes, yes Mr. Stern.”

A gentle laugh, “Not quite, big guy. Were we anywhere else, I’d tell you to call me Joseph. But here..” he tucks his hands casually into his front pockets, “here you call me sir.”

“ _Fuck_ ” Barclay battles himself to keep his pace slow, needing to be good but also so turned on he’s afraid he’ll start humping the furniture. He forces himself to wait a count of two between each button, gets his vest and shirt off without further instruction. Stern watches him the entire time in silent appreciation. His shoes and pants are more awkward to take off while standing, and he braces himself on the desk, not wanting to sit without permission. 

Then he’s standing there in nothing but his black boxers and the lights of town, laughter floating from the party while Stern studies him like a menu. 

“Fold every and set it on the chair.” 

He follows orders, boggles at getting hard from someone telling him to fold laundry. Jesus, Stern hasn’t even touched him. Is he even planning to? Barclay can’t decide which option he likes better. He returns to his spot in front of the desk, hands folded in front of him. 

“Should I, uh, get dressed, sir?”

Stern pushes off the door, walking casually over like a shopper regarding a display, “That depends; do you want to do back to the party with your cock hard enough to hammer nails?” He glances down, then back up with a pointed stare. 

“N-not really.”

Stern raises an eyebrow. 

“Not really, sir.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about it.”

“Are you sure we should do it here?”

“Barclay, if we get caught, I’ll be twice as mortified as you. I’m only doing this because we’ve got this whole floor to ourselves.” He cups Barclay’s cheek and the sighs, rubbing his face against a warm palm. 

“Okay sir, I trust you.”

A moan curls up between them as Stern’s other hand runs along his chest.

“Good boy. You like to be good, don’t you, Barclay? You like taking care of people?” 

“Yes, so much sir, please, lemme be good to you.”

Joseph strokes his face, “That’s very thoughtful, Barclay. But I think it’s been awhile since someone took care of you. Would you like me to do that?”

“Please, sir.” The response is pulled from him, one of the many parts of him aching magnetically to be near to Stern. 

The other man shoves his right hand down Barclays boxers, sliding his thumb over the head once before stroking steadily up and down. 

“Holy fuck” Stern gasps, “a guy could have a lot of fun with this thing.”

“It’s all yours, sir.” 

Fuck, where did that come from?

Stern groans, tips his head to kiss across Barclays chest, murmuring as he does, “Is that what you want, Barclay? You want _this_ ” he speeds up until Barclay’s hands fly to the edge of the desk, keeping him from dropping to the floor, “to be mine?”

He whines, nodding.

Stern’s hand stops.

“Yessir”

It starts up again, “what else do you want, big guy?” He’s still kissing all over his upper body, tone nonchalant.

“You, sir, I wanna fuck you or, or you can fuUUUck me if you want, not very good at bottoming-”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Stern lightly pinches his nipple, “what else?”

“I want to blow you, and, and FUCK, I bet you’re a fucking great kisser and I want you to fucking boss me around as much as you want, wanna wear a collar, a blue one, ohfuck” Barclay scrapes his nails along the woodgrain, “fuck, sorry, that was weird-”

“No, say more” his grip tightens and to Barclay’s surprise he’s panting, “tell me everything you want, even it’s got nothing to do with sex.”

“I want, fuck, to be tied up and told how good I am, want to wear something stealth sexy out in public, want to fuck in a cabin” his mouth is fully ahead of his mind, which is concentrated entirely in his dick right now, “want to eat at every five star place in the city, want to drag you places by that fancy tie, have a new car, buy any cookbook I see, I want, oh fuckohfuck, sir, I wanna cum please, want to so bad.”

“You can cum whenever you like, big guy. But you have to kiss me while you d-” 

He cuts Stern off with a kiss, clinging to his shoulders and pouring desperate, deep sounds down his throat. Stern kisses back with precision and a pleased moan when Barclay cums in his boxers. 

Stern eases his hand out and Barclay flops against him, face buried in his neck as he rumbles out a thank you. 

“D-do you want me to blow you, sir?”

Stern kisses below his ear, “Yes, but that’s not doable right now. Unlike you, I don't have a change of clothes, and something tells me you’re a, um,” he bites Barclays ear, “messy eater.”

“Only when I’m enjoying myself, sir.” 

“You don’t have to keep calling me that, unless it helps you come down.”

“I’m okay, Joseph. Heh” he smiles, inhales a minty cologne, “I like that name. It’s classic.”

“Thanks, I picked it myself.”

Barclay chuckles, snuggles closer while ignoring the sticky underwear. 

“You know, I can give you everything you want. If you want me to.”

“Some of those are really fucking expensive, babe.”

“You really have no clue who I am, do you?” Stern steps back, moving to the other side of the desk and pulling out a packet of wet-wipes, sliding one across to Barclay before cleaning his hands.

“A really cute guy who should let me take him to dinner?” Barclay pulls down his underwear to clean the cum from his stomach.

“Ever heard of Lucky Park?”

“No fucking way. I man, I know it’s a pen name, but there’s no fucking way, a guy who’s never off the NYT Bestseller list wouldn't fuck a nobody cook.”

“If the cook was hot and interesting to talk to he would. The kitchen skills help a little.” Stern winks

“But you wrote _The_ _Peregrine Quintent_ , and _Red Dust,_ jesus christ your stuff has been _movies_.”

“Now you see why James was so startled; I’m Penguins golden goose. That’s why I even have time to write books on cryptids; they know to indulge me. Plus I put out at least a book every two years for them and it always makes a fortune. Do you need to sit down? You look kind of lightheaded.”

“I’m fine, uh, just trying to make sense of it all. Also I can’t sit down unless you want my bare ass on your chair.”

“Another time. I guess you’re going commando for the rest of the party, but I think you can handle it, big guy.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” He grabs his pants and pulls them on, “holy fuck, this can’t be real, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Barclay” Stern touches his arm, “it absolutely makes sense. I had so much fun talking with you, you’re such a, um, a sweetheart. And you’re built like a wet dream. If, um, if this is too much too soon, tell me to back off but I, I’m serious. I can’t remember the last time I got butterflies like this around someone, or wanted to buy things or do things just to make them smile. You clearly look after so many people in your life; will you let me look after you, at least for a little while?”

“You really want to?”

“Unlike some people, I like big men with a gentle center. You can be my six foot puppy any time. Wait, hold on, that, um, that came out weird.” Stern giggles and Barclay, now dressed, pulls him into a kiss. 

“I get it, babe. You wanna go show me off?”

“Of course. I’ll get my camera ready; we have to record your exes reaction.” Stern kisses his cheek, “after all, maybe this will teach him to know a good man when he sees one.”


	5. Yeti Hunt (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 82\. you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have

He has no one but himself to blame. 

Stern is always so careful about shutting the doors in this cabin, as the old hinges and worn frames can send them swinging open when coupled with a strong wind. He thought he had that same care when he came in with more firewood from the basement, which can only be accessed through by going out of the house and then down to the locked door. 

Apparently not. At one, he went to check on Yeti and found the back door open and the faintest shape of feline paws leading into the darkness. 

They’ve got two feet of snow on the ground, with another foot forecasted to fall by morning. And Yeti is sleek and snow-white.

He’s wandered the perimeter of the house, left her favorite blanket out on the covered porch, and tried in vain to follow the tracks, filled in by the falling snow. He’s been outside for an hour now, with no sign of her. Not even the jingle of her collar in the cold air. He’s shivering, but he can’t stop the search; Yeti is out here, cold and scared and it’s all his fault. 

As he’s crunching through the snow, warm light spills onto the trees. His neighbors (a loose term out here) house. He couldn’t stand waking Barclay up to help him, but if he’s already awake…

Stern raps on the door, and four seconds later it opens, his neighbor looking like a lumberjack centerfold given life, even in his sweatpants and brown sweater. 

“Joe? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Yeti, she got out without me noticing and I can’t find her, I’ve been out here an hour and there’s no sign. I, um, I know it’s a stretch but can you help me look for her? We can cover more ground that way.”

Barclay gives a small, worried smile as he nods, “Yeah, of course, lemme get enough on so that I don’t freeze and I’ll join you.” 

He waves Stern inside, passes him a box of tissues before disappearing upstairs. Here he’d hoped the tears from his brief panic and self-blame spiral hadn’t left evidence. He’s good in a crisis, has handled much more stressful incidents with grace and calm. But for some reason every time he musters up those emotions, gult rips them to shreds. Yeti is his to look after, he’s supposed to keep her safe, and one careless move has her out in the woods, in freezing weather, with predators, or thin ice, or, or, or-

His brain is excellent at generating contingency plans on the fly, but tonight it directs that ability to making him think about all the bad things his error could cause. 

“Okay, got my headlamp so I can keep my hands free. You got a light?”

Joe holds up his flashlight.

“C’mon, let’s go find the Yeti.” They set off side by side in the snow, “where do you want to look?”

“Fan out near the creek, I think. The snow isn’t as deep there, so she might have gone that way because it was easier to move.”

“She’s a climber, right? So how about this; we go on either side of the creek, you look on the ground and I’ll look in the trees?”

“That makes sense.” 

It’s slow going, both of them being meticulous, shining their lights on every branch or under every bush. Stern’s always appreciated how careful Barclay is; he assumes it comes with a profession where being messy slows you down, but the first time he saw his well-organized kitchen his heart did a little dance of delight. 

In the month and a half he’s lived here, the cook invites him over at least twice a week to try out a recipe. He works at Amnesty Lodge in the nearby town of Kepler, and spends some of his nights there. Still, he’s at his cabin often enough that Stern’s been able to invite him over some evenings. Though it’s odd he’s up so late on a work night.

“Do you not have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this week off. I have some vacation time and when I get back it’ll be the holiday break rush until New Years. I got caught up in the latest Agent X novel and didn’t see how late it was until you knocked. How about you, staying up researching again?”

“Yes. I was trying to keep the fire going because it’s nice to work in that little living room but, um, going out to get the wood is how she got out. If I’d just gone to bed-”

“Whoah, hey, none of that.” Barclay stops, turning to face him, “shit happens, even when you’re careful. This isn’t your fault, Joe.”

“I know. It still feels that way.” He starts forward again, feet freezing in spite of his snowboots (chosen for optimal weight to insulation ratio). Part of him wants to keep talking, because Barclay is interesting to talk to, his years playing “Lodge dad” giving him endless anecdotes and the ability to be honest without being cruel. 

It helps that his baritone voice makes Stern think of brown sugar; rich, complex, just the right kind of sweet. 

After a solid hour of searching, Stern is so cold he’s having trouble getting words out. Barclay sets a big hand on his shoulder, guiding them towards Sterns cabin.

“Joe, you’ve gotta take a break. Worried your lips are gonna go as blue as your eyes, and then tonight will really suck.”

“But I haven’t found her.”

“And you won’t if you freeze to death or get so chilled you can’t think straight. At least sleep for a few hours.”

Stern’s about to protest as they reach the door, but then his knees buckle and he slumps against a broad chest.

“I’ll do one more spin into the deeper woods on my way home, and leave some blankets out on the porch in case she makes her way to me. She’s smart, just like her owner; I think she’ll get home okay.”

“Right. Okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Barclay hesitates mid motion, then pulls Stern into a hug. Stern is not small, and at Six feet zero inches he’s used to being the tallest person in a room. Barclay always feels like he’s dwarfing him, though right now that’s the most comforting sensation in the world. 

“I’ll check by in the morning.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He mumbles into Barclay’s scarf.

“Any time, Joe.”

—————————————-

Barclay waits until Joe is inside and the upstairs light switches on to leave the back porch. God, it’s so fucking cold tonight. He doesn’t blame Yeti for getting curious, but she could’ve picked a less awful time to do it.

He’s glad the other man came to him for help; he hates the idea of Joe out here alone and stressed, searching carefully and kicking himself the whole time. He’s glad Joe took the suggestion to sleep. 

He’s glad the other man came to be his neighbor. 

Ironically, they’d met when Joe came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. The dark-haired man was short on what he needed to cook, and Barclay was happy to supply it. It’s not everyday a cute guy asked him for some sugar. 

They ran across each other in town, and Joe even came to eat at the Lodge, usually at off hours where Barclay had a chance to talk. That’s how he learned Joe was here to research a recent Bigfoot sighting. 

_“I used to be in the FBI, investigating the same thing. Then I got so frustrated, no one really believed in the possibility of unknown creatures, and the few who did saw them as having some sort of use to the department of defense. Great idea, find something so rare it’s existence is unproven, and then lock it away or blow it up.” The sip of coffee is more aggressive than usual._

_“Won’t they get mad if you spill their secrets?” It was only half a joke._

_“I doubt it. They weren’t too interested in my theories when I worked there; odds are they’ll keep an eye on me a little while and then ignore me. Unless I find Bigfoot, of course, in which case they may want me back. I’m not interested, from now on I monster hunt in the name of science.”_

Barclay hopes Stern never finds Bigfoot and stays in his cabin, writing and researching and consulting and coming over to Barclay’s for dinner twice a week. He has a whole menu in his mind titled, “foods for seducing Joe” that he’s going to whip out in the next few weeks, he swears it. 

He’s been swearing it for two weeks. 

Joe is sophisticated, smart, has really good taste in books and food, and Barclay feels so listened to when they talk. Barclay starts blushing whenever Joe smiles at him, which would be embarrassing except Joe does the same thing whenever Barclay drops his voice a little. Besides, he likes it when Joe smiles. 

Barclay would give anything to make Joe smile tonight. Which is why he’s tromping into the spot where they lost the last of Yeti’s footprints. He stands, listening for any sign of human life. 

Then he slips the woven bracelet off his hand, and his foot-prints almost double in size. 

It’s a bad idea, he’s not all that far from other houses or the road, but in this form his sense of smell is twice as strong and his night-vision a bit sharper. It’s also the reason he’s taking this week off work. Yes, he likes to rest up before the winter rush; but his heat, which comes ever fourteen years, is due in the next few days. He’s actually a little worried turning into his Sylph self will make his brain fuzzy enough to forget his mission. So he reminds himself, as he tromps through the growing blizzard, that he is doing this for the person he’d most like to impress in this world, and that does the trick. 

A whiff of the same, non-human scent he stole a noseful of when hugging Joe catches his attention. He follows it to a disused burrow, gets down on his belly, and finds reflective eyes blinking back at him. 

The animal hisses. 

“Man, please be Yeti and not a bobcat. Duck’s gonna fucking kill me if I harass the wildlife.” He reaches into the burrow and hears a telltale jingle. Yeti, surrendering to her fate, goes limp in his hold. When he puts her against his chest she chirps, curiously sniffing him. As soon as the bracelet is on she blinks once, then purrs as he bundles her into his coat. She’s cold and damp, but she’s in one piece. 

“C’mon cousin, let’s get you home.”

The lights are all still one, and the front door is wedged open the exact amount a cat would need to get inside. He steps in, kicks the wedge free and shuts the door. The fire is low, and there’s no sound of anyone moving around. 

“Joe? Whoa, careful Yeti, I know you wanna get warm but we should show him your okay.”

“Mew!” Yeti bites the fringe of his scarf. 

He tries again, “Joe, you still up? Got someone for you?”

A scuff and groan from the kitchen, “Huh? Oh, shit, I fell asleep, one second”

Yeti shifts her focus while Barclay is distracted. In one graceful leap she rips his bracelet away, lands, and bounds to the kitchen.

“Yeti! Thank the lord, there you are my little cryptid, I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again, thank god you’re okay.” Joe’s voice goes muffled, as if he’s holding the cat to his face and talking into her fur. Barclay is frozen, not wanting to be seen but even less wanting to have Joe spot Bigfoot dashing into the trees. 

“What do you have–Yeti, it’s rude to take things from the man who saved you from being-” Joe rounds the corner, cat in his arms, and gasps. Yeti, uninterested in the unfolding drama, _tump_ s to the floor and scampers upstairs. Joe’s hands fly over his mouth the instant she’s no longer in them. 

“Hey” Barclay waves.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Bigfoot.”

“What the _fuck_?” Joe isn’t moving, and Barclay decides now is his best chance. 

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get my bracelet back.”

“No, you’re going to explain everything.” 

“I really, really can’t, some of it isn’t mine to explain. I mean, uh, I can explain some bits later-” He creeps toward the stairs. Joe steps in front of him. 

“Barclay, this can’t wait. You, you’ve been him the whole time, my entire world view is simultaneously being proven and flipped over, would you please just talk to me?”

“Mew?” Yeti is halfway down the stairs, watching them with the bracelet still in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Joe reaches up and out, plucking it from her teeth.

“You’re not getting this back until you explain.”

“Babe, please, I promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, wait, what did you call me?”

“Uhhhh” Barclay lunges for the bracelet instead of answering. Stern twists out of the way, sprinting for the kitchen. Barclay gets an arm around his waist and yanks backwards, sending them both over the back of the couch. Joe elbows him and scrambles up. Barclay only just manages to block him from going up the stairs, stalks him back onto the rug and tackles him. It succeeds in bringing the man down and keeping him pinned. 

It also sends the bracelet flying onto the floor, where Yeti snatches it up and disappears up the staircase. 

Barclay realizes he’s growling, stops so that he won’t frighten Joe, only for it to start up again as a reflex.

“Barclay, I swear, if you hurt my cat-”

“I won’t, I, that’s what not that noise is for. Or, uh, I mean I’m pissed you played keep-away with something I need, but I also have some bad news about Sy–uh, Bigfoot biology. Uh, so, first thing: I have a heat, which is why I was trying to stay away from people. Second thing: my kind uses a very intense game of, uh, chase as part of courtship.”

Stern shifts his thigh, “ _That_ explains what I’m feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, can you go get the bracelet and then we can, like, have some tea and talk about this? I’m sorry, I feel so bad for making you deal with this.” The growl rumbles up again. He gears up another apology when he notices Joe’s blue eyes getting wider.

“Is this, um, only because of your heat? I mean, if you tackled some passerby, would the same thing be happening?”

“No.” Barclay squeaks. 

“Then I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, big guy.” He grinds his thigh up, making Barclay yip and pin him to the rug while touching as little of him as possible. 

“Joe, this doesn’t make me like, mindless or anything, but if you say you want this you are signing up for several days of as much fucking as I can manage.”

“I don’t have any deadlines.” Joe’s eyes remain fixed on Barclays crotch. 

“I’m serious, if you say stop I will, but if you don’t you won’t be able to get out of bed for days. And, uh, I can put my disguise back on, you don’t have to fuck me like this, I know it’s weird.”

“Barclay, I built my life’s work on weird.” Joe pets his arm.

“Yeah but not on fucking it.”

“How do you know? Lots of my time with the UP is classified.”

“Joe…” it’s a warning, the heat in his brain suggesting a dozen things to do so the human can’t be touched by another cryptid ever again.

“I want you, Barclay. In both forms. As long as you promise we’ll talk after, I’m okay with doing this first.”

“I promise”

“Good, because otherwise I was going out to see if there’s another bigfoot in the area who was interested.” Joe smiles, moves to pull off his shirt. He doesn’t get to; Barclay snarls possessively and drops onto him, biting his neck and ripping his clothing into a flurry of fabric scraps. The human moans, gasps when Barclay makes short work of his own pants and reveals what’s waiting beneath. Barclay doesn’t give him time to process, shoves his legs as far apart as they’ll go, and finally sinks into him.

“JesusfuckingCHRIST, ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggodAH!”

His cock is more thick than long, splitting the human open while bottoming out on every thrust. Joe’s fingers knot into the rug, his words morph into sharp, ecstatic sounds. Every creature in the forest can probably hear him. 

Barclay clamps his hand down over the humans mouth, “shut _up_ babe, don’t want anyone else in the woods getting any ideas about how good a fuck you are. You’re fucking mine.”

A muffled moan and, when he pulls his hand back, “Y-you really think I, fuck, I can keep quiet when you fuck me like this?”

“Thought they taught FBI agents _discipline_ ” he drags his claws across Joe’s chest, relishing the shaky, happy noise that gets him. 

“There’s discipline and, AAHnnn, there’s inhuman restraint.”

Barclay slams the hand down again and growls, pleased, when Joe’s posture turns submissive.

“Here’s the deal; you keep quiet and take it like a good mate, and after I cum in you, can be as loud as you fucking want, because anyone who gets near you’ll know belong to me. I mean” he jerks his hips, “they’ll be able to tell that from the fact I’m balls-deep in you too, babe.”

Joe nods, replaces Barclays hand with his own as the Sylph hooks his knees over his shoulders. The next minute goes in a heat haze, his brain and body united in the desire to cum in Joe, to claim him, while the human stifles his screams and grows slicker with each thrust. 

He tips his head back with a howlgrowlpurr as he cums, leaving faint clawmarks in Joe’s legs as he holds them open to make sure he takes every bit.

“Lord almighty” Joe’s hand falls to the floor, “that, that was amazing, why on earth were you acting like this isn’t something I’d waaAAAAAntohgod.” He whimpers as Barclay starts up again, fucking his cum up into him.

“Shoulda known you’d like it; you’re perfect, Joe.”

A blush and a shy moan, and he leans down to kiss him gently.

“You are. You’re the perfect man, the perfect mate, and we are gonna have so much fucking fun together.”

“And fun fucking?” He looks pleased with the wordplay.

He snorts, “Glad to know that sense of humor sticks around when I’m filling you up, oh, ohfuckyeah” another orgasm hits, milder this time. 

“Are they near constant when you’re in heat?” Joe eyes the trail of cum sliding back down Barclay’s cock.

“No, just easy to have. So” he flips the human over, squeezing his ass appreciatively, “let’s try it from behind this time; wanna find out how it feels to cum in you while I get you off.” He slips his hand over Joe’s thigh and between his legs, “and you better fucking do it too, of I’ll drag you outside and fuck you against a tree so anyone passing by can see how fucking eager you are for me.”

“Please, we’ve spent so much time outside tonight.”

He thinks as kisses along Joe’s shoulders, “You’re right. I’ll fuck you against the door instead.”

————————————-

When Stern wakes up, snow is falling in the grey light and his clock reads 2:30 P.M. Downstairs there’s a homey clink of pots and pans, and the smell of coffee winds it’s way to him. 

He fell asleep around five, he thinks, when the cumulative exhaustion of his day overpowered the thrill of being with Barclay. Honestly, he’d have kept going, but Barclay was adamant he rest. So they finished with him fucking Stern’s slack, sleepy mouth, before the cryptid bundled him into bed and snuggled up to him with those deep, rumbling purrs that Stern now loves.

The bracelet is gone from the nightstand (Yeti didn’t eat it, thank god), so the chef must be making breakfast in his human form. Now would be a good time to go down and talk. 

“Mew” A weight lands on his chest as Yeti kneads the blankets, purring when he reaches you and rubs her head.

“You know, little monster, this almost makes the heart attack you gave me worth it.”

“Mew?” The cat stares hopefully out the windows. 

“Not a chance. I can’t take that stress again. Besides” he scoops her up, “we need to unbox that new toy I ordered. Barclay and I need some time to ourselves today.”


	6. I Got My Love to Keep Me Warm (OT4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34\. we’re stuck together on a group project and everyone is tired and frustrated so you suggest we take a break and build a snowman

There are lots of things Joseph likes about attending UWV Kepler. For starters, it’s one of the oldest schools on the Interplanetary University System, meaning he’s surrounded by students from Earth and its sister planet, Sylvain. The first gate between the two worlds appeared in Kepler, giving the whole area an air of mystery that he relishes. And, at the start of the summer, the cute Sylph in his lit class asked him out. 

Barclay is soft spoken, an amazing cook, and part of a whole community of Sylphs who live on Earth full-time. Sometimes, when they’re cuddled up watching the X-Files or he’s helping Barclay in the kitchen, he looks at the other man and is awestruck that he’s chosen Stern as his boyfriend. 

As much as he loves being at school, it has downsides. For instance, while the spring semester on Sylvain uses more experiential means of testing students, the fall semester on earth ends in finals weeks, just like high school did. He’s good at tests, so while they’re a pain he doesn’t hate them. Projects don’t often bother him, but when they’re group projects he gets flashbacks to his junior year of high-school and develops a sort of pre-emptive anger at the people he knows wont pull their weight. 

The final project for his Community Development class started off well. Barclay was in the class with him, and is one of his partners. The other two in the group are Duck and Indrid, another Sylph/human romance, and in the midst of their first planning session Indrid let it slip that he and Barclay hooked up during the Sylph equivalent of high school. Duck was wholly unbothered, though that may be more to do with him being even-keel in general, and Joseph got a little distracted imagining the two of them together. 

Between his organizational skills, Duck’s environmental knowledge, Indrid’s knack for art, and Barclay’s ability to incorporate different elements, their plan for the hypothetical sustainable community center on Sylvain was chugging along. Even if Duck and Indrid kept cuddling up or stealing kisses whenever they could. It’s just a little much, in that it makes Joseph wonder what it’d be like to be between them, Indrid’s wiry frame wrapped around his back while that wide smile pressed into Joseph’s neck while Duck gave him that crooked grin and pushed his legs apart with strong hands…

Focus. He needs to focus. 

Because they have been trying to put it all together for two hours straight and have made no progress.

“…just think this bit is gonna read as convoluted. What do you think babe?” Barclay points his pen at the section in question.

“We could probably do without it.”

“Maybe” Duck pulls up the directions for the fortieth time, “I’m worried if we over-edit we’re gonna fuck up section five on the rubric. I still don’t know what he means by those last two bullet points.”

“Not sure reading them over yet again will reveal anything new.” Joseph rubs his forehead, “Indrid, what do you think.”

No reply, just a scratching pencil. 

“Indrid?”

“Earth to ‘Drid.” Duck nudges his boyfriend, who abruptly shakes his head. 

“Apologies, I got caught up in a future. How can I help?”

“Does this need to be cut?” Even Barclay sounds on edge.

“…maybe.”

“‘Drid!”

“It does not strike me as having a large impact on the grade either way.”

“Someone please just make a decision.” Barclay groans. 

“Hold on” Duck leans back to look out the window, “it ain’t snowin as hard. So, here’s what I’m thinkin; how about we take a break and get some fresh air. All four of us.” He looks pointedly at Stern, “seriously Joe, you been outside in the last two weeks?”

“Only to get from point A to point B.”

“C’mon” the shorter man hops up, heading for his coat, “last one out has to make the next pot of coffee.”

Soon they’re tromping across the lawn near Indrid’s house; because he’s a seer, the silver-haired man is in high demand by universities, governments, and businesses, which resulted in one paying his tuition and another for his house. 

“I have to do a stint as court seer anyway, I may as well take advantage of it.” Had been his explanation the first time he showed them the building, so at odds with his unkempt appearance that Joseph wondered if it was a practical joke. 

He still has no idea what kind of Sylph Indrid is, as he keeps a human form at all times. Barclay also leans that direction, but when he’d offered to show Joseph his Sylph form and Joseph practically jumped for joy before, during, and after the reveal, he became more comfortable wandering around as Bigfoot (“ _a_ bigfoot, babe”) at home. 

Indrid pauses mid-stride, turning to Duck, “An excellent idea, love.”

“Gotta let me say it first, sugar.”

“Apologies” Indrid kisses his cheek. 

“The snow ain’t turned to horrible slush yet, so: who wants to build a snowman?”

Twenty minutes later, they’re standing before a six foot tall snowman. It’s very well engineered, if he does say so himself. 

“Wonder if we can get it higher.” Duck contemplates the structure. 

Barclay winks at Joseph, slipping off his bracelet and rolling up another ball.

“Hell yeah!” Duck whoops and Indrid claps with an appreciative chirp.

“I’m going out on a limb and saying we’ve maxed out height.” Joseph shields his eyes as the snow falls in larger clumps. 

A wide grin cuts across Indrid’s face, “Not necessarily. Allow me.”

He hands his glasses to Duck and Joseph gasps; standing before them is creature coated in black and grey speckled feathers, save for his arms that are a smooth, dark grey chitin. Feathery antennae and glowing red eyes complete the picture.

“Holy shit.” 

Indrid trills, seemingly pleased by Josephs awe, and gathers a ball of snow before flapping into the air. 

“Ta-dah!” He bows, still flapping, having brought their sculpture to what must be closing in on nine feet. 

“It look a little rickety to you?” Duck whispers to Joseph.

Barclay, yelling over the sudden burst of strong wind, calls, “Indrid? You might wanna land buddy.”

“I suppose you’re–oh damn it.” 

The storm picks up, sending the top layer of the snowman straight onto Indrid, knocking him the rest of the way to the ground. 

“Fuck” Duck moves faster than Joseph’s ever seen “you okay ‘Drid?”

“C-cold, b-but otherwise f-fine.”

“Thank fuck.” With that Duck wheezes, shaking with laughter, “you shoulda seen your face.”

Indrid snickers, then sneezes. Which they all take as a sign to head inside. Having been the last one out the door means Barclay goes to start coffee, while Duck steps away to call his friend Juno to be certain she has a safe way of getting back to their shared apartment in the storm. Which leaves Joseph to be the one helping a very damp mothman dry off. 

“Why not just take your human form?” He scrubs the fantasy wicking towel along Indrid’s back.

“It would probably let me dry faster, you’re right. But I’m nervous that water droplets would stay in the feather somehow and freeze, which is unpleasant.” When Joseph finishes his head and back the Sylph poofs up, then shakes his feathers back down. 

“That got a great deal of it, thank you. I can do my inner wings, if you’d rather go warm up.”

“It’s alright, I’m happy to help. Same motion?” He takes up position by Indrid’s extended right leg as the Sylph spreads his wings.

“Yes. Ah, be careful towards the innermost fourth. They’re sensitive.”

He nods, sets to work. As he glides the towel over the eye-spot, he murmurs, “I’m amazed you keep this form hidden.”

“It tends to alarm people.”

“Even Duck?”

A small laugh, “Only the first time, because he wasn’t expecting it. And I turned up at his window to warn him about a fire that was about to start in the dormitory.” 

“I think you look incredible.” The sincerity in his tone registers at the same instant their physical closeness does.

Indrid smiles, “So you _do_ share Duck’s proclivities.”

“I, um, I’m not sure what you mean” He busies himself cleaning.

“You are attracted to me.” Indrid replies, folding both sets of hands in his lap. Startled, Joseph moves his hand too far in and Indrid chirps, higher than normal. 

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright, as I said they’re sensitive, but that does not mean they’re painful to touch.” The smile tinges with mischief and Joseph is ready to toss the rag aside and ask Indrid to let him put his fingers there when a drawl comes from the doorway. 

“Makes an even better sound if you play with his antenna.” Duck pushes off the doorframe, sauntering over as red eyes stay locked on him, “see?”

Indrid trills as Duck rubs the tip of one antennae between his thumb and finger. 

“Careful, sweet one, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Joseph doesn’t know if he wants to take Indrid’s place or Duck’s, just that he’s wringing the towel so tight it’s tearing. 

“Coffees ready.” Barclay pokes his head in, chuckles, “or do you two need me to put it in hold until you’re done fucking in front of my boyfriend.”

“We would do no such thing without permission. Yours _and_ his.” The way Indrid says it, as if Joseph is merely something can give or revoke access to, makes him cross his legs in a hopeless attempt to turn himself off. 

“Joseph?” Barclay’s voice is gentle as he joins him on the floor, “it’s up to you, babe. I’m happy to get my hands on some feathers again while you get your hands on those two but, uh, if you don’t want to or, uh, or need time-”

“I…”

Duck, blushing, sticks his hands in his front pockets, “Sorry, didn’t mean to come on too strong, was tryin to flirt a little-”

“Yes.” Joseph tosses the towel into the laundry hamper, “yes, I want this, you, all off you, oh my lord I haven’t been this turned on before. And that’s saying something” he turns to Barclay with a smile and gets a kiss in return, beard scratching his skin as the other man trails his lips down his neck. 

“That worked out nicelEEEEH, ohohyes” Indrid leans against Duck as the human plays with his antenna. Joseph crawls forward, eager to get his hands on Indrid’s wings, only for a clawed hand to come palm-up towards him. 

“Ah-ah, I didn’t give you permission to touch me, pet.”

He moans, hears Barclay growl, pleased, as Indrid chuckles. 

“Goodness, Barclay, you didn’t say he was that submissive.” Clawtips rest under his chin as Indrid keeps him in place. 

“Hold up, you two been comparin notes on fuckin humans?” Duck raises an eyebrow as Indrid nods, unashamed and Barclay goes bright pink. 

“Oh yeah? What’ve you been sayin about me, sugar?” He teases, tugging on the antenna. Indrid releases Sterns face and growls, pivoting onto his knees to trap Duck against the wall.

“That you are the finest, most accommodating human in either world and you make such lovely sounds when I bite you.”

“Sounds about right.” Duck kisses Indrid’s forehead, “but if you wanna see how Joe stacks up, I ain’t gonna complain. Long as I get a turn with him too.” He looks past Indrid to Joseph, “been wantin to know what you look like under the whole buttoned-up nerd thing.”

“No time like the present.” Joseph pulls his sweater off, grumbles as he remembers the shirt beneath it has buttons. As he undoes them, Indrid cocks his head. 

“I have an idea. Duck, remove your pants and underwear and whatever else you see fit. Barclay, stay clothed for now. Joseph, take everything else off.”

“I’m working on it.” 

“Then work faster, pet. I’ve been wanting to do this since you first touched my wings. Ah, there we are.” He purrs as Joseph kicks his boxer briefs away, “come sit in my lap.”

He does as he’s told, sighing as feathers tickle and caress his skin, “this form is even better from this angle.”

Indrid chirps softly, tongue darting out to lick his cheek as he closes his wings around him, “there will be ample time to explore it later, I promise. Right now, there is something that requires your attention.”

“OHmylord” his fingers sink into Indrid’s chest feathers as something thin and undulating teases between his legs. Two more appendages join it, one the same size and one thicker.

“To answer the question you’re about to ask, the shape has various, ah, biological functions.”

“And means you can get fucked more’n one way at a time.” Duck chimes in with what is obviously a happy memory. 

“Very true. However, for your first time, I think you can be a good boy and take the whole thing.” 

“FUCKohmyfuckinggod.” Down comes loose in his fingers as all three tendrils thrust inside him at once, twining into a single, ridged form that wastes no time in fucking as deep as it can manage. 

“Good boy.” Indrid tips his head back, purring louder, before turning his attention to Barclay, “Enjoying the show, _sunburst_?” The Sylph term of endearment gets a pleased rumble in reply, and Joseph steals a glance behind him to see his boyfriend palming himself through his jeans. 

“You know it, gorgeous. Seems like Duck is too.”

“Hell fuckin yeah I am.” Duck is rubbing his dick, the sight making Joseph lick his lips.

“Such an eager little human, my sweet.” Indrid glances at his boyfriend, “I think that deserves a reward.” He grips Josephs jaw with an upper hand, forcing his lips apart and his face up, “come and get it.”

Joseph moans, wiggling his hips as Duck’s two hands replace Indrid’s one. 

“Fuck, you look so goddamn good like this Joe.” He strokes his cheek, cock temptingly close.

“I don’t know, the view fromAH god, from down here is great.” He kisses Duck’s thigh, relishing the sweet smile the compliment gets him. 

“Gonna look even better in a sec. Now” he shoves his head forward, “suck my dick, pretty boy.”

He whines against slick skin, brings the hand keeping him balanced up and around to grope Duck’s ass. He loves the shape of it, and will tell the other man as much the moment his mouth is free. 

“Barclay, come here dearest” Indrid’s lower hands remain on his hips, but the upper two lift to do something he can’t discern until there’s a zip of metal and an appreciative trill. 

“Yeah, you like the look of it little moth? Oh _fuck_ , Indrid, baby, fuck that feels good.” A wet, rythmic sound suggests Indrid is blowing him, but when Joseph turns to look Duck jerks him back, fingers tightening in his hair. 

“Uhuh, ‘Drid gave you to me as a reward, so you’r gonna fuckin focus until I cum. Fuckin christ, wanna see just how good you look when I cum on your face, pretty boy. Nnn, fuck, bet your mouth feels even more amazin when your cummin. ‘Drid?”

“‘On ‘oment” 

A high, sharp chirp echoes through the room and Joseph can see Barclay’s hand from the corner of his eye, jerking up and down near the base of Indrid’s antennae. 

“Yeah, fuckyeah, Indrid, that’s it, fuck, can’t believe you’re lettin me cum on your feathers, god it’s gonna look so good, fuck, fuck, yeah.” Drops of cum hit the back of his next as Barclay howgrowlpurrs, Indrid’s tongue-tied reply sounding pleased with itself. 

A thud as his boyfriend drops to the floor, “Fucking-A, forgot how fast I cum from that.”

“It’s very gratifying. As for you, sweet little pet” all his claws dig into Josephs skin, the delicious pain sending whimpers up his throat, “I believe it’s time I made you cum.”

He yelps, muffled, as Indrid fucks him roughly, one tendril slipping out stroke his dick.

“Here, let me help.” Four thick fingers push in and he whines, Barclay kissing his shoulder and still letting out little growls of effort. 

“How’s that, my sweet?”

“So fuckin good, goddamn Joe, you feel fuckin perfect when you scream, heh, someone’s got a praise kink” he smirks as Joseph grabs him harder at the word ‘perfect.’

“C’mon babe, take it, you wanted all of us, remember?”

“Oh, I’m certain he does. And he’s going to feel it in the morning, I’ll make sure of that.” The tendrils still inside him curve just right and he cums, clinging to Duck’s legs as it ripples through him. Barclay pulls his fingers back, but Indrid continues fucking him, thrusts turning short and erratic as Duck grinds into his mouth. The other human cums with a groan and a string of curse words, stroking Josephs hair as he finishes. 

There’s a trill and Indrid’s wings flex, sending Duck stumbling backwards and Joseph pitching against the Sylph’s chest as he spills into him. It takes longer than usual, even accounting for the times it’s been with Barclay in his Sylph form. Just as some it drips out and down his thighs, there’s a final pulse and then the tendrils retract.

“Mmmmmmm” Indrid closes his arms and wings around him, “that was spectacular, pet.”

“Goddamn, came so hard I can’t feel my legs. You okay, Barclay?” Ducks fingers appear under Indrid’s…armpits? Wingpits? He’ll have to ask later.

“Uhuh.” A scuff as his boyfriend cuddles up with them. 

“……wait, we don’t need that section, we cover the rubric points Duck’s worried about in our ‘considerations’ portion.” Joseph sits up.

Duck guffaws, Indrid gives an amused tilt of the head, and Barclay leans over Indrid’s wing to kiss Joseph on the cheek. 

“What? Post orgasm clarity is a documented phenomenon.”

“We can fix it soon.” Indrid rubs his face, “I for one need to bathe, and given the storm will only intensify overnight and leave you all stuck here, we have ample time to fix it.” He flutters his wings shyly, “would anyone like to join me?”

An hour later they’re all clean and dry, the project is at a stopping point, and Barclay’s made fancy coffee for three of them and eggnog for Indrid. They settle in on Indrid’s nest of a bed to watch T.V, Duck in Indrid’s lap and the Sylphs wing draped over Barclay and Joseph. The weather outside chills and darkens the world, but as he nestles against soft feathers and warm fur, Duck’s hand in his, he’s got plenty of love to keep him warm. 


	7. All I Want for Christmas is You (and you, and you) (OT4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 56\. my little sibling/cousin makes me sit on santa’s lap and when santa asks me what I want for christmas, I blurt “someone to love” and you’re the cute elf that overhears (or I blurt ….[insert here])

He’s exhausted, but he promised he’d take his cousins to see Santa after work while his aunt does some shopping. As is traditional, half the Newton family is already in town, even though it’s three and a half weeks until Christmas. 

Dove and Robin each take their turns, and then insist in that terrifyingly forceful way of six year olds that Duck do so as well. Given he nearly blew it last year when they asked him if Santa was real, he decides he should play along. At least he changed out of his work uniform first so fewer of the other mall employees will recognize him as a twenty-three year old man sitting on Santa’s lap.

“And what would you like for Christmas, young man?”

“Ned, please, make this easy” he hisses at the man playing Santa. 

“Well, then, answer the question dear boy.”

“I, uh, I really want…”

He can’t lie and say something bland, and the only thing he’s really hoping for this winter is-

“I want to get laid.”

He regrets the words and all of his life choices as Ned booms out a laugh. His cousins are too busy studying the toys strewn about the room to hear, so he counts that as his luck for the day, takes their hands, and hurries off into the mall.

————————————

“He really said that?” Barclay looks back at Stern as he restocks cookbooks.

“Yes. I was photo elf today so he didn’t see me cracking up.”

“Don’t know why they hide their cutest elf away like that.”

“Because I’m tall.” 

Barclay turns, glances around to be sure no one is watching, and kisses his cheek. 

“Nah, you’re perfect.”

He blushes; even after nine months of dating, Barclay has a way of acting as if he’s in a perpetual state of falling for him. 

“What did the guy look like?”

“On the shorter side, and his eyes where two different colors. Works at R.E.I.” It’s his best attempt to protect Duck’s dignity.

A conspiratorial smile crosses his boyfriends face, “Keep an eye out for my manager for a sec, babe?”

“Of course. What are you doing?”

“Matchmaking. I hope.”

————————————-

Duck’s on duty in the tent and sleeping bag area when Indrid Cold appears. Indrid works at the tattoo shop across the way, and has a habit of taking lunch the same time Duck does, sitting on a metal bench and trying to draw. The mall gets crowded and loud around then, and two months ago Duck started sneaking him into a back corner of the store so he can have lunch in peace. Indrid, a few years his senior, with his tongue piercing and tattoos, the ratty black pants and various tank-tops that show off a skinny frame Duck would love to get his hands on, is the kind of guy Duck would’ve had a crush on.

Now, Indrid is the kind of guy who makes him so hard he does embarrassing-ass things like say “I need to get laid” in front of his cousins.

Indrid leans his shoulder on the wall, grinning, red glasses making him resemble the mothman tattoo on his right arm. 

“Howdy, sir, got questions about the tents?” Duck smirks. 

“Indeed. Which one is best for sex?”

Duck barks out a laugh, claps a hand over his mouth when a nearby shopper gives him a funny look. 

“Any that ain’t a one-person deal. That your way of tellin me you got a hot date tonight?”

“I might” Indrid peers of the rims of his glasses, “a little bird told me you had a rather, ah, explicit Christmas wish.”

“Aw fuck, who even heard me othern’n Ned?” 

“I suspect it was Joseph. Poor man is stuck being an elf, and it was Barclay who texted me the hint.”

“Ughhhhwait-” Duck stares at him, “you came over here to ask me if, uh, if I wanted to, uh-”

“Yes. Oh dear, was my innuendo unclear? Or was it not even an innuendo?”

Duck has him against the wall in two steps, not touching him but bringing his mouth up to growl in his ear

“Your place, sugar?”

“I get off at seven.”

“Won’t be the only time you get off, I gauran-goddamn-tee it.”

———————————-

Indrid’s grip is flatteringly eager as he pins Duck to the door of his trailer.

“Damn, sugar, didn’t know you wanted me that badAhnnnnnohfuckyeah.” He rolls his hips as Indrid yanks his collar down to set hickeys in his skin.

“I have though you were attractive from the moment I saw you, and have wanted to fuck you since that time you made yourself laugh so hard you nearly snorted soda out of your nose.”

“Kinky.” 

“I meant” Indrid grabs and shoves and guides him across the floor, “that the moment I saw that smile I wanted to see what other smiles I could draw from you.” The kiss is a counterpoint the heated touches, so gentle and sincere Duck changes course.

“Fuck it” he hops up onto the kitchen table, discarded illustrations crunching under him, “I can’t wait anymore, you’re so fuckin cute, all fuckin romantic and shit.” He pulls him down into another kiss, groans as clever fingers undo his pants. Duck shifts as Indrid gets them mostly down, refusing to break the kiss all the while. The wire of the taller man’s glasses bumps his skin, and he finally gives in, pulling away so he can guide them off Indrid’s face. 

“I’d very much like to touch.” Indrid’s fingers are tense, poised on Duck’s thighs. He looks shyer without the glasses, almost virginal, which is fucking remarkable for a guy who came onto him in broad daylight. 

“Touch whatever you like, sugar, long as you let me do it back.”

“Gladly. I, ah, that is, should I stay on the outside?” 

He thinks, trying to sty a step ahead of his own brain to see if this is a day where penetration might set it off. 

“This time, yeah.” Duck hooks his legs round Indrids, keeping them close. 

“Does…that mean there might be a next time?” Indrid is gnawing his chapped bottom lip.

Duck waits for him to meet his eyes, then nods so Indrid can know what comes next is pure teasing. 

“Depends on how well you doOHfuck, ‘Drid, that’s it sugar, c’mon, jack me off.” He grinds his hips, Indrid experimenting with different movements, grinning every time Duck moans. 

“Touch me, please, Duck, I want you, want you so much.”

It takes a few seconds of fumbling and two muttered “fucks” before he gets Indrid’s pants undone enough to get his hand around his cock. A tattoo peeks out over either hip, and Duck decides his new plan for the winter is to discover every inch of Indrid’s skin with his mouth and hands. 

There’s a whine as Indrid buries his face into Duck’s shoulder, working him harder as Duck’s fingers go slick with pre-cum. 

“I, I am not going to last very long, wanted this too long, too much”

“Then cum for me, sugar.” He picks up the pace and in four strokes discovers Indrid isn’t kidding, the silver-haired man cumming down his hand. 

“D-don’t stop, don’t stop until I’ve made you cum. AH, ahnnnyes, _yes_ ” Indrid squirms with a delighted smile.

“You like that? Knowin I’m gonna wring you dry unless you get me off?” 

“Yes!”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin needy, you’ll even take me bein rough just so you can fuck me.” He gives up on being gentle, moans when this makes Indrid find just the right pressure and speed. When he cums he let’s go of his cock, uses both hands to drag Indrid into a kiss and feels him shuddering with pleased little sounds. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He slumps back on his elbows as Indrid drops into a chair, forehead resting on the table “shoulda opened my big mouth in front of Joe sooner.”

“Mmmhmm” Indrid bumps his arm with his nose. Then he cracks his eyes open, the shyness back full-force, “if, ah, if you need to get home I understand but, ah, I was wondering if you’d like to stay awhile?”

“Told my folks I’d be out late. You anglin to cuddle and steal my body heat?”

“Maybe.” A kiss to his arm now, Indrid gazing at him adoringly. 

“Then I’m gonna snuggle the hell out of you.”

Soon they’re nestled under the covers of Indrid’s bed, watching _the Repair Shop_ and talking, Duck’s head on Indrid’s chest. 

“Kinda funny that our exes set us up, ain’t it?”

“You consider Joseph an ex?”

“Kinda? Sounds better than “friend I fucked a few times Freshman year of college.”

“True. I must admit, the thought does make me wish I’d been a fly on the wall.” Indrid freezes as soon as the sentence hits the air, “ah, that’s, I apologize, that just sort of came out.”

“No harm done.” Duck kisses the top of his head, ignoring the ideas conjured up by the admission. Why stick to Indrid watching when he could be involved? And he bets Indrid goes full-on tease with Barclay, something he’d love to see, and there is definitely a recurring fantasy of fucking Joe from behind while someone else came down his throat….

Later. He can think about those things later. Right now, he’s utterly content and happy to focus on the lilting voice rambling about art restoration and the bony hand holding his own. 

——————————————

A side benefit of Duck and Indrid getting together is that they can now go on double-dates with himself and Barclay. Or, as Joseph is starting to call them “put all three men he’s attracted to in a room to see if he cracks” dates. He honestly didn’t mean for it to become that, but the more time they all spend together, the less he can deny the wish that it was just one, four-person date. 

His feelings for Barclay are self-explanatory; he’s his boyfriend of nearly a year who, among other things, treats eating him out as something akin to a religious experience. Indrid, he now understands, plays at his long-running interest in the strange and unusual. The fact his intriguing exterior hides someone a little awkward and very well meaning makes it all the better.

And then there’s Duck. They’d hooked-up a few times in college, when Joseph was newly out as trans, and being with someone who wasn’t weird about it had been the icing on the beefcake (a phrase he used once and made Duck laugh and fall off the bed). Duck has only gotten better with age and, looking at his strong arms and rounded face, the ass he wants to sink his fingers into, Joseph understands that the awe he felt whenever Duck was naked wasn’t solely to do with the newness of the act. If ever there was a body to be worshiped, it’s Duck’s.

So, yeah, he’s had a lot to think about while listening to parents art director their children for their picture with Santa. 

Tonights “double date” is a little odd. He and Barclay are each getting a small tattoo (not matching, he’s too sure that’s a way to jinx things) courtesy of Indrid, with Duck tagging along so they can all go to dinner after. Barclay is the last client of the day, and Indrid’s boss locked the four of them in with a reminder to Indrid to arm the alarm when he leaves. Duck flips through magazines as Joseph reads off _Buzzfeed Unsolved_ conspiracy theories for his entertainment. 

“You should do one of those shows. You got that whole nerdy but stylish thing going for you.”

“Duck, my work uniform is an elf costume.”

“But the rest of the time you look like Special Agent Cooper.”

He blushes, “Special Intern Stern is more like it.”

“You’re gettin there, city mouse.”

He looks up at the old pet name, just in time to see Duck throw an _Adbusters_ up as cover and start talking about the image he’s staring out. Joseph lets him. For now. 

————————————–

“There. A safely wrapped present to yourself.” Indrid double-checks the bandage on Barclay’s upper arm. 

“Thanks, man. Can’t wait to see what it looks like all healed. Sure it’s gonna look fucking great.” Barclay still sounds a little shaky from the adrenaline. 

Indrid allows himself a burst of pride that his friend thinks so highly of his work, “I just need to clean up and then we can be on our way.”

Barclay gives an affirmative grunt, staying in his chair. There’s a spike of fear in Indrid’s stomach; did he do something wrong? Is Barclay about to pass out?

Circling the chair to check replaces the fear with pure, skin-prickling lust. 

“My, my, is this why you’ve waited so long to get a tattoo?” 

Barclay whines, shaking his head, his eyes shut and his cock pitching an obscene tent in his jeans. 

“Are you lying?”

“N-no. I, uh, I mean I like pain, but I didn’t think this would happen.”

“That’s a new development.” Indrid leans against his workbench, enjoying the view. 

“Joseph and I have been trying out a bunch of things, figuring out what we like.”

“How very methodical. And unfortunate; if memory serves, once you get wound up it takes time for you to unwind.”

“Indrid please” Barclay’s gritting his teeth. Indrid’s remembering just how fun it is to have such a big man wrapped around his finger. 

“Please what?” He cocks his head.

“I, fuck, I dunno, talk about weird morbid shit. Disasters. Anything that will make it go down.”

A sinful image enters his mind, unshakeable in it’s appeal. 

“I can do you one better. Joseph? Would you come here? I need your help.”

Barclay’s eyes snap open, Indrid grinning at the excitement in them. 

“Is everything alright?” Joseph steps through the door, Duck poking his head in worriedly after him. 

Indrid points to Barclays cock, “I have to clean up, and that needs to be seen to.”

“And you want me to, um, see to it with you two in the room?”

“Only if you are both comfortable-”

“Yes” Barclay and Joseph say it at the same time, the dark haired man crossing the floor and dropping to his knees in front of his boyfriend.

“Should I, uh?” Duck glances between the three. So polite, even when Indrid can see the flush spreading up his skin from here. 

“Please stay.” Joseph is panting, in spite of only now getting Barclay’s zipper down. 

“Barclay?”

“Fine by me, man. Long as you know I’m gonna fuck your boyfriend into the floor for fucking with me like this.”

“That I’d like to see.” Duck shuts the door, grabbing Indrid’s chair so he can sit.

“There is one caveat, sweetheart; you are not allowed to cum right now. I promise I’ll show you new ways of being rough with me if you do.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sugar.”

“No fucking kidding, maybe you should get to fuck him before me since he’s being so meEEan, fuck, yes babe, goddamn I love your mouth.” Barclay arches in the chair as Joseph sucks him off. Indrid’s own cock perks up at the sight, becomes insistent as he turns his back and cleans to the sound of Barclay growling profanity in time with the wet sound of his cock defiling Joseph’s throat. 

He gets things cleaned and in order as fast as his rapidly dwindling focus will let him, turns back to see Barclay whimpering as Joseph kisses and licks along his shaft. Duck is still seated, rubbing his thighs together as he watches them, hands digging into the faux-leather seat. Indrid supposes he should scold him for stimulating himself, but he looks so very handsome right now.

Instead, he strides over to the pair in his client seat and fists his hand into Josephs hair, gelled strands breaking free in his fingers as he guides his mouth back over Barclay’s thick cockhead.

“We do _not_ have all night, pet. So get to it Snap twice if it needs to stop.” He pushes him down by his hair until Barclay’s pressing the back of his throat, then yanks him almost all the way up. Joseph moans steadily, blue eyes darting between him and Barclay beneath black lashes as Indrid forces him up and down. 

“Fuck, babe, you look so fucking good on your knees, taking my cock like a good boy.”

“Ahem.” Indrid manages to look stern. Barclay is just able to tilt his head up enough for Indrid to dip down and kiss his full lips.

“Thank you, baby, thank you for letting me get offAHshit _shit._ ”

“Close, dearest?”

“Uhuh, socloseohfuck”

“Do you want to cum down his throat?”

“So bad, Indrid, please.”

“You heard him, pet.” He holds Joseph’s head down, pre-cum thoroughly staining his pants as Barclay jerks up and Joseph frantically gulps him down. He brings his head up without warning, gathering the stray droplets of cum from his lips and fucking them into his mouth with his fingers.

“Good boy.” He purrs and Joseph whimpers happily. 

He looks at Duck, and for a moment he’s terrified he went too far, ignored him for too long. His boyfriend’s eyes are wide and dark, locked onto where Joseph is still eagerly sucking his fingers. Slowly, his gaze drags up to Indrid, crooked smile blossoming as it does. 

“Indrid Cold, you’re a fuckin genius, and I am gonna fuck you into next week.”

———————————

It’s not next week, but it is ten at night and Indrid is being fucked well into it. 

They’re at Joseph’s apartment, his lack of roommates giving them optimal privacy, and Indrid is on his back on the tidily made bed. Barclay fucks him hard, grunting out thank yous for the privilege, which Indrid would reward with praise were his mouth not currently occupied with Duck riding his face. Joseph is near his head as well, having cum earlier via Barclay’s tongue (“this one of the best goddamn things in the world and I’m gonna show you two how to do it right”) and now rapturously groping Duck. Indrid can’t quite hear all the praise he’s directing at Duck’s body, but he’s going to hazard a guess he agrees with the statements.

“Can, fuck, can one of you make him cum? Wanna feel this demanding little ass tighten.”

“On it.” Joseph grips his cock and oh, no wonder Barclay looks so blissful most days. The man gives masterful handjobs and Indrid cums hard, whimpering when neither Duck nor Barclay lets up. The base of Barclay’s cock thuds against his ass so hard he’s wondering if that part of him can bruise, and Joseph switches his attention to Indrid’s nipple piercings, toying with him just like Duck demonstrated, Indrid squeaking as he sucks Duck’s dick. 

There’s a groan as Barclay cums, working himself through it in Indrid’s increasingly sensitive ass while Duck cums on his face, petting his hair as his hips jerk. 

When he’s finally able to sit up, it’s to a portrait of tender debauchery. Barclays head is on his stomach, his beard and hair a royal mess that Joseph is gently stroking down to some semblance of order. Duck is snuggled up beside him, kissing his shoulders and holding Indrid’s hand. 

“That was, um, something.” Joseph murmurs. 

“A whole hell of a lot of somethin.” Duck opens his free arm so Indrid can nestle against him, Barclay shifting to put his head onto Joseph’s thigh. 

“Is it…something we wish to happen again?” Indrid’s nerves creep back up.

“Hell yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Thank goodness. I. Ah. I am realizing I am fond of all three of you and, ah, very attracted to all three of you as well.”

“We should lay out some ground rules, right?” 

Barclay’s stomach growls, “For sure, babe. But can we please get dinner while we do? I’m gonna start eating the strap on. 

“You better not, that one was expensive.”

They clean up themselves and the room, frequent kisses prolonging the process. As Barclay orders pizza and Indrid starts water for tea, Joseph loops an arm around Duck’s shoulders.

“We should get you to blurt out Christmas wishes more often.”

“You got a deal. Just, next time, not in front of Ned.”


	8. Special Snowflake (Danbrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24: i’m absentmindedly making snowflakes in class and you’re the nerd who can’t quit glaring at me every time you hear my scissors.

If they were in one of the big lecture halls, Dani would not be having this problem. But the twenty-odd person room means the snipping of scissors is irritatingly audible. The noise is coming from behind and to the left of her. Turning her head, she spots the culprit; a girl wearing a denim vest under her coat, whose curly black hair is streaked with fiery red. 

She’s cute, but Dani is still going to steal her scissors the first chance she gets. 

There’s another tell-tale “snipsnip” and she glares over her shoulder, willing the scissors to melt. When that doesn’t happen, she looks up and finds the other girl smirking at her, then sending a wink her way. 

Shoot, she’s holding the scissors at a level where it 100% looked like Dani was staring at her chest.

She flips her attention back to the front of the room. A flurry of snips makes her look back again. 

The girl has made a heart instead of a snowflake. When Dani notices it, the other girl smiles. She looks even better when she smiles. 

Damn it. 

\---------------------------

“Hi!”

The unexpected greeting makes Dani jump. It’s the Thursday lecture, and snowflake girl has sat down right next to her. 

“Uh. Hi?”

“You’re Dani, right?”

“Yeeah? How did you know?”

“Um, because Professor Chicane takes role, and you always sit in front of me so I can see you when you respond. I’m Aubrey.”

“Dani.”

“Um, so, I’m sorry if the snowflakes were, like, distracting you on Tuesday. I do better in class when I have something to do with my hands but I can, like, doodle instead if it bugs you.”

“I just get a little on-edge from noise sometimes, it’s no big--wait. If you thought you were bugging me why’d you make a heart?”

“Because I thought there was also a chance you were flirting and I wanted to hedge my bets just in case.”

Dani blushes; she had no idea anyone could see her annoyed face and still hope she was flirting with them.

“Oh, crap, class is gonna start, I’m gonna move to my normal spot. The one with the nice view.” Aubrey winks over her shoulder and Dani impulsively blows her a kiss. 

Aubrey sits down next to a short guy in “Monongahela National Forest” sweatshirt and whispers something in his ear. He high fives her. 

Dani spends much of the lecture looking over her shoulder, even though Aubrey keeps the snowflakes to a minimum. In fact, she only makes one, which she leaves on Dani’s desk as she’s packing up her laptop. Written in the center of it, in red ink, is a phone number.

\----------------------------------

Ideally, Aubrey would not have asked her out two weeks before the end of the semester, when Dani has to go back home for winter break. But they make the most of it. There are lots of “study” dates that involve more handsy make-outs than flash-cards, nights and afternoons snuggled up against each other in the little coffee shop by Aubrey’s apartment, and a memorable evening during which they discovered Aubrey’s immense, black rabbit, Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, ate through the cord on the rechargeable vibrator (luckily before they plugged it in rather than after).

When break came, Aubrey walked her to the train station and kissed her goodbye, using Dr. Harris Bonkers paw to wave farewell as the train pulled away and down the tracks. 

They text every day, Facetime or Skype at least once a day, usually when Dani has settled in for bed. She’s more than a little glad her brother is staying with his partner over the holidays; the walls of their rooms are thin and the two of theirs are next to each other. Jake stopped eavesdropping on her around the time he hit twelve years old, but the habit of not being able to quite relax while on the phone in her room remains. 

She’s extra glad for it tonight, because she wants to show off a Christmas gift she bought herself (or, more accurately, she bought for the express purpose of riling up her girlfriend). The lace is a little fussier than she tends to buy, but it makes such cool leaf patterns, the pastel green and gold of the bra making her look stunning and the matching underwear hugging the curve of her ass in a way, if she does say so herself, is really flattering. But she’s more interested in what Aubrey thinks. 

_Fireblossom: Holy shit_

_Dani: You like it?_

_Fireblossom: Uh, yeah? Why are you so far away instead of here when I can show you how hot you look?_

She laughs at the string of emojis that comes through next; flames, peaches, kissy lips, and…

_Fireblossom: Sorry, moth emoji is from texting Duck to tease him about his crush. Did you for real buy that just for me?_

_Dani: Yep. You deserve some eye candy, cutie._

_Fireblossom: I’m gonna fucking combust over here. Dr. HB is gonna be an orphan because of your cute butt._

_Dani: I think we can do something about that._

_Fireblossom: I’m stuck at family dinner time until nine and it’ll be hella sus if I sneak away to the bathroom for that long._

Shit, she should pull back on the teasing. Aubrey is typing something else, and she manages to get the strappy bra off in the time it takes for it to come through. 

_Fireblossom: They won’t notice me texting, though._

_Dani: You sure? We can totally pick this up later._

_Fireblossom: But I wanna make you cum in your fancy underwear ;)_

She’s not about to turn that down, texts Aubrey the green light as she rifles through her duffel bag. It’s only a small bullet vibe, but it’s never failed her. Something she’s learned in her twenty years of life is to always have a vibrator on hand when traveling away from your hot girlfriend. 

_Dani: Ready._

_Fireblossom: K. Turn on the vibe, but keep it outside the underwear for now._

The fabric is thin, and she gasps as she rubs the vibe in slow circles over her clit. She flips to voice to text, because now is not the time for an awkward autocorrecting or her one-handed typing. 

_Dani: what next?_

_Fireblossom: Feel yourself up for me, honey. Can’t my hands on those cute tits so you’re gonna have to do it for me._

She does as she’s told, massaging her chest and teasing her nipples the way Aubrey always does when they’re tangled up on the couch. 

_Dani: Fuck that feels good. Still wish they were yours though._

_Fireblossom: Soon, beautiful, I promise_

She shifts her hold on the vibe, which gets it to just the right angle to curl her toes. 

_Dani: Can I go under the fabric?_

_Fireblossom: Aww, you’re remembered to be good and ask first. Yes, you can._

“Thank god.” She slips the vibe under the silk, closes her eyes and imagines it’s Aubrey using it on her, grinning in that unfairly captivating way of hers as she tells Dani how good she’s being, how good she looks, how she’s so lucky they’re together. 

She picks up the pace, groans when she sees the next text.

_Fireblossom: Cum for me, honey, use both hands_

Dani shoves her free hand down and pushes two fingers inside, moaning as she envisions Aubrey kissing her as a reward for doing it. It doesn’t take long, she’s been low-key horny all day and turned on ever since she got that first message back from Aubrey. The orgasm is short and satisfying, bursting out from her and making her feel like every one of her limbs is tingling with exhausted delight. 

_Dani: Came. Holy fuck. How are you this hot just through a screen?_

_Fireblossom: A magician never reveals her tricks ;)_

_Dani: A magician should make an exception for her girlfriend who’s still seeing stars._

_Fireblossom: Flatterer._

Dani sighs, rolls onto her stomach so she can text more easily, not sure what’s she’s supposed to say now.

_Fireblossom: That was really hot though. And now I miss you even more._

_Dani: I miss you too, fireblossom. I can’t wait to come back to you._

_Fireblossom: Me neither. Can I Facetime you tonight?_

_Dani: Totally._

_Fireblossom: If I get lucky, will you help let off all the steam I just built up?_

_Dani: Of course, babe._

_Fireblossom: GTG, nephew is bugging Dr HB. Talk to you soon, you make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world <3_

_Dani: Don’t be silly. That’s obviously me, because I’ve got you <3_


	9. On Ice (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27 i run a hot chocolate/cider booth at the local ice rink and you always flirt with me but i didn’t think it meant anything because you seem to flirt with everyone

Barclay’s family has lots of traditions come winter, the same as most people he knows. But his personal one is manning the “Sip n Slip” at the Kepler skating rink. He started volunteering there when he was 16 and stuck driving Jake to and from hockey practice. It was something to do, and he liked cooking and making drinks, even if it was just powdered cocoa and simple cookies. 

Then he was coming back every winter when the stand opened to help out, and when he opted to stay in Kepler to work as a chef, he still made time to volunteer. He’s thirty now, the stand a little cramped for both him and the other volunteers, but the smell of warm sugar cookies and too-sweet cider takes him right back to his teens. 

The same can be said of the man currently at the front of the line; he looks like a rom-com hero, with his black hair slicked back and his stylish coat and scarf, and Barclay has not been this close to popping a no-reason boner in months.

“How can help you?” he leans on the counter, smiling. 

The man gives him a stealthy once-over before replying, “I’ll have a coffee, please. And a kid’s hot cocoa” he smiles at the young girl holding his hand, “anything else, Ellie?”

“No.” 

“I guess that’s all.”

“That’ll be two bucks.”

The man hands him a five, letting their fingers touch. He does the same thing when Barclay gives him his change. When Barclay sets the to paper cups in front of him he adds, “cream and sugar is over at that little table.”

“I’d say there’s plenty of sugar here.” It’s so smooth that Barclay is still blushing as the man and the little girl disappear into the rink. 

Maybe he should start making people give him their names with their orders. 

And their phone numbers. 

\-------------------------------------------

“Hello again” 

Barclay bounds to the counter (as much as six foot three man can bound anywhere), “Hey! Coffee and cocoa again?”

“Just coffee, my niece isn’t with me.”

He does a mental fist pump; the kid isn’t his, so maybe that’s a sign he’s single. As he’s trying to work out a non-creepy way to get his name, someone calls from across the room.

“Joseph! There you are man” a stockier guy in a ranger jacket waves.

“First day of rec hockey” Joseph smiles, “wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

Joe winks, and then he’s gone. Barclay starts a new batch of cookies, looks at the door to the rink every two minutes for the next hour and a half until the other man emerges, sweaty and laughing. He’s twice as handsome as before. When he spots Barclay staring at him, he waves. 

The cocoa packet in his hands turns two separate pieces, spilling powdered milk and sugar on the floor. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Back again?” He forces himself not to sound too excited at the fact Joseph is once again ordering coffee from him. 

Blue eyes take on a glint, “With you here, how could I stay away?”

He’s this close to asking Joseph if he wants to get coffee somewhere nicer when the man waves another friend over, bumping shoulders and hands with him as they talk. 

Okay. Maybe he’s just demonstrative with everyone. That’s cool. 

Totally cool. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

He officially cannot tell if Joseph is flirting. Yes, he stops by the stand every time he’s at the rink (usually twice, once when he gets there and once before he leaves), and when it’s slow he sits in a plastic white chair and chats with him, tossing in winks and smiles whenever he says something complimentary. He’s animated, charming, and Barclay is now the living, breathing definition of “hopelessly crushing” on him. 

But Barclay’s seen him talk the same way with his friends and teammates, and even with the other adults waiting to pick their kids up from the same class his niece attends. Barclay’s caught no fewer than four hockey moms and two hockey dads giving Joseph the eye. 

He doesn’t blame them; he spends the slow part of his shifts imagining what Joseph looks like under his nice coat. Or his work out clothes. Or the Bigfoot-themed holiday sweater he started wearing in mid-December. 

However, for the sake of his own sanity and not making a burgeoning friendship weird, he decides to treat all of their interactions as platonic unless Joseph explicitly says otherwise. So when Joseph asks if he’d like to go skating on Saturday, Barclay agrees immediately and then focuses on not getting his hopes up. 

Confusingly, Joseph tells him to be at Tenney Park at three in the afternoon, rather than at the rink. He arrives at five til one and discovers that the fully frozen pond is now a skating hot spot, complete with skate rentals. Barclay brought his own skates; his feet are large enough that getting a rental pair that fit is a crap-shoot.

Joseph is waiting for him on a bench, reading on his phone. He’s in his black coat, the one that makes him look like a secret agent on a ski vacation. The late December sun peeks through the clouds, and Barclay’s pretty sure a beam illuminates Joseph perfectly while a heavenly choir sings. 

No, wait, there are some carolers down the street. 

“I’m so glad you made it.” Joseph moves the pair of skates from the spot beside him and pats the cold stone. Barclay sits down, and they chat about the mystery series that Joseph got him hooked on. It takes twice as long as normal for him to lace up his skates, because whenever he glances to his right, Joseph is watching him with a smile and his fingers forget how to work. 

They wobble over to the ice and step on. The first few strides are fine, but then he hits a groove followed by a small dip and almost falls on his ass. On a normal rink, it’d be a fluke. But there are no Zambonies in the wild.

“This is, whoahfuck, harder on lake ice.” He flails a second time, sticks a hand out for balance only for it to be caught by Joseph’s own. 

“I like the challenge. But don’t worry big guy, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.” 

The nickname is a complete accident, brought on by the fact that Barclay is staring into his eyes to avoid reading too much into the held hand. The hand that Joseph doesn’t let go off, even as they move onto a smoother patch of ice. 

All that rec hockey is paying off, because Joseph practically waltzes them around in circles, never bumping into anyone or losing his footing as they talk. They compare notes on holiday gifts and new years plans, and Joseph laughs when Barclay regales him with the story of the great babka debacle of 2014.

Barclay’s so caught up in their conversation that he misses an odd bump in the ice and goes sideways into the snow-covered grass to his left, taking Joseph with him accidentally. Joseph ends up on top of him, both cackling like kids at the chaos of the moment. Barclay shivers, snow sneaking under his coat. 

“Wanna, uh, get some coffee to warm up?”

“Sure” Joseph smiles. 

“Bet that stand uses the same mix mine does.”

“Oh, um, I was thinking we could go back to my place for it. I’m only a few blocks that way.”

There’s no way he’s missing a chance to see Joseph’s house (he has a bet going with Dani that it’s immaculate, while Dani insists Joseph could be a stealth slob), and so ten minutes later he’s pulling off his boots in the entryway of a one bedroom, first floor apartment. The walls sport several elegantly done cryptozoology posters, he spies a pile of cookbooks he recommended on the kitchen counter, and the whole place looks like it’s been tidied within the last day. He texts Dani a stealthy photo, then settles on the couch while Joseph moves about the kitchen. 

God, he wants to go in there and wrap his arms around him, kiss him against the counter until they both see stars.

Easy, Barclay, easy. He cannot ruin a good day with a friend. 

“I also have some wine, if you’d like that instead of, or with, coffee.”

He glances at the Kraken clock on the wall, “Sure, it’s late enough.”

Joseph walks in, now in just his sweater and pants, stopping to a light a candle before setting two wine glasses on the coffee table. He’s pouring as the sun sets, the change in light helping the room feeling warm and cozy.

“Careful, you keep up those romantic touches and I might think this is a date.” He teases. 

Joseph looks up, wine perilously close to the edge of the glass, “wait, this isn’t a date?”

“Uh, I, uh, I, I didn’t want to assume, I mean, do you _want_ it to be a date?”

“Barclay” Joseph sets the bottle down, “I asked you out to something outside of the normal way of spending time together, without anyone else present, and kept holding your hand. And I kept flirting with you.”

“I know, but you kinda flirt with everyone.”

A self-deprecating laugh as Joseph joins him on the couch “Some work habits are hard to turn off; I have to be good at getting people at ease with me, to like me, because then they share information more readily. I guess that could make it hard for someone else to tell the difference.”

“So, uh” Barclay’s fingers cling to the knees of his jeans, “does that mean I could maybe, uh, kiss you?”

Joseph cups his cheek, guiding him in for a gentle kiss on his still chilly lips. Barclay whimpers, spends a moment embarrassed by the noise before Joseph lets out a little growl and shoves him backwards, climbing on top of him and kissing him demandingly. 

“‘Grrr’ to you too, babeAHhhhfuck” He rolls his hips as Joseph grinds down and sucks teasingly on his lower lip.

“Is, is that okay?” His black hair is coming loose from it’s gelled swoop, he’s blushing, and his eyes are wider than Barclay’s ever seen.

“Oh my god it’s so much more than okay.” Barclay groans, bringing his hands up to squeeze his ass and press them closer, “fuck, babe, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to drag you into the stand and, fuck, and cover your mouth so no one would know how hard I was making you cum.”

“Lordalmighty” Joseph jerks his hips, “why didn’t you?’

“Because I OH, oh yeah, bite there again, I wasn’t sure you liked me that way, and I really like you, and I didn’t wanna fuck things up.”

Joseph kisses his cheek, murmurs in his ear “Well, now that you know the truth, I want you to fuck me up, big guy. Think you can do that?”

Barclay growls for real this time, flipping them so they’re on their sides and Joseph’s back is pressed to the cushions of the couch. He grabs the dark haired man’s leg, hooking it over his own. 

“Yeah, blue eyes, I think I can.”

With that he slams their lips together, grinding his hips hard as the couch springs wobble under them and Joseph tangles his hands into his hair. His hands make up for lost time, slipping under Josephs shirt, dipping below his pants, mapping as much as him as they can find. 

“Barclay I AHlord, I have a bed you know?” 

“We can use that next time, burned through all my patience not jumping you at the rink.”

He feels Joseph smile, “Fine by me.”

“Fuck” he drags his mouth down, Joseph laughing when his beard scratches his neck, “fuck there’s so much I wanna do to you. Bet it’s so fucking fun to fuck you after practice, bet you’re all worn out and wanna be taken care of.”

“Holy shit.” Joseph matches his pace, working his hips as best he can in time with Barclay’s increasingly erratic thrusts. 

“Gonna keep you in bed all day, babe, suck you off so good you’ll beg me to come back tomorrow, gonna show you just how good I can treat you with this” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis, “gonna, fuck, ohfuck, Joseph, fuck _fuck_ ” he cums hard, lifts his hand up to hold onto the top of the couch as the rides it out, Joseph moaning into his mouth and functionally pinned between him and the cushions. 

“Fuck I, I didn’t mean to cum in my pants like it’s my first fucking time.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s the best thing anyone’s done with me in months. Now” he nips Barclay’s ear, “show me how creative you are, big guy, and get me off.”

“Hell fucking yeah.” Between the two of them they contort enough to get Joseph's pants open and down, Barclay shifting back slightly to slide his hands into his boxer briefs, the front of which is completely soaked. 

“That’s so fucking hot, can’t believe you want me that bad”

“Nnnnnhuh” Is what Joseph manages in reply, his face pressed into the crook of Barclay’s neck, breath coming in short, warm bursts as he jacks him off. Barclay pays attention to which motions make him louder, which make him wiggle his hips with more force, and peppers the side of his face with kisses, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky. 

Joseph gets less eloquent the longer Barclay works him over, sinks his teeth into the neck of his shirt as he cums, whole body taut and picture perfect as he does. Barclay pulls his hand away, flopping it over Joseph's hip as they lay panting, the dark haired man nudging them so he can rest against Barclay’s chest while the larger man thanks the lucky stars floating somewhere just above the ceiling for all this. 

“Do you, um, want to stay for dinner? I have to do laundry anyway, so I can toss your clothes in so you don’t have to drive home like that” He ghosts a hand over the damp spot by Barclay’s fly. 

“That an excuse to have me wandering around your place naked?”

“Not entirely. Your shirt is fine, and I think I have some underwear that will fit you.”

“Fine, half-naked.” He kisses the top of his head. 

“When you put it like that, yes. This is both an excuse to have you half-naked in my house and to spend more time with you. Which might be my favorite thing in the world; seeing you at the rink was always the best part of my day.” 

Barclay cuddles him closer, wrapping him in his arms to keep away any lingering ice in the air. “Mine too.”


	10. Cooking Lessons (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 68\. you’re obsessed with my homemade soup that I serve at my cafe and I’m too embarrassed to tell you that I’ve only been trying out new recipes to see you get excited for the soup of the day

Stern tries to avoid being rude in public, or in general, really. But right now he’s wondering if he can get away with shoving his face into this soup bowl and licking out the bottom. The food at Amnesty Lodge has always been stellar, but lately the soups are the highlight of his day.

Reluctantly, he leaves the last delicious dregs at the bottom of the blue ceramic bow and heads to the counter to pay his bill.

“How was everything?” Dani rings him up with a smile. 

“Incredible. I swear, Barclay out does himself every time I come.”

“Great! I’ll tell him you said so. I know he loves getting feedback on new recipes.”

\-------------------------

“You did not say that.” Barclay drags the rag down the counter top. 

“Okay, so I didn’t add ‘especially from guys who he thinks are hot,’you got me.” She smirks as she clocks out. 

“It’s not my fault he’s so cute when he gets excited about food.”

“Barclay, just ask him out already.”

“But he’s a customer!”

“Who you also see once a week at game night at Duck’s. He’s for sure in friend territory at this point.”

“She’s got a point. Besides, sometimes flirting with customers ends well.” Aubrey leans against the kitchen door, twirling her car keys and winking at her girlfriend, “right, honey?”

“Absolutely, firebug.” Dani loops her arm around Aubrey’s waist, then levels Barclay with the look that routinely makes people mistake her for his little sister, “ask him out, or I am going to leave your number on his check the next time he comes in.”

“Okay, okay” He holds up his hands, chuckling, “you win.”

He waves goodnight, finishes locking up once the two women are gone. Then he climbs the stairs home. Amnesty Lodge was a real lodge, once upon a time. But as the city grew and buildings were divided and repurposed, only the restaurant and the rooms above it, plus the small house next door, remained. Mama, the owner, lives in the house, and Barclay has the apartment. It’s nice; he has no commute, he can run up and change if he gauges his layers wrong, and he likes being able to hear the river running nearby and the traffic humming through his window. 

Maybe Joseph would like to come up here after closing some night for coffee? Or is that too forward? Would he be interested if it was forward, or if they took it slow? Would he be interested in Barclay at all? Does he just like him for his soup?

God, the soup. He never meant for it to become a thing. His usual menu had three or four soups of the day in rotation, but then Joseph ordered a bowl of the corn cheddar chowder to go with his club sandwich and ate it so joyfully that Barclay caught him licking his spoon. Which did nothing to quash his budding crush on the guy. So he started trying out new recipes just to see Joseph get excited, and now it seems like Joseph is coming in just for the soup, and the upshot is he may be stuck forever in a soup-loop because of the way Joseph’s eyes crinkle when he’s happy. 

He knows that Joseph agreeing to a date would make him happier than a fresh produce delivery. But he has no clue if he really stands a chance with a guy who’s always well-dressed and friendly, when he himself is an often quiet, scraggly looking cook. 

Well, if nothing else, he has to try. Dani is not a woman of empty threats. 

\------------------------------------------------------

“How do you do it?” Joseph rests his chin in his hand, spoon sitting in his empty bowl. He’s at the counter seating, so he can see Barclay working at the grill. 

“Do what?”

“Come up with such good recipes. And don’t try to say it’s cookbooks; you said last week that you’ve come up with a lot of them on your own.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing special, just a lot of tinkering.” He gets an idea, one that flashes over him so hot and fast he’s afraid the stove caught fire. 

“Would, uh, would you like to help me out with the newest one? I get off in an hour since I was on the early shift today.”

“I’d love to! I have some errands to run downtown, so as much as I’d like to hang around for an hour and watch you show off, I’ll see you at seven.” He sets down the cash to cover the bill and a tip, winks, and heads out the door. Barclay really hopes he stays in the suit when he comes back.

“Uh, dude?”

“Yeah, Jake?”

“Toast’s on fire.”

“Fuck!”

\-------------------------------------------------

Barclay finishes setting out his mise en place right as there’s a knock on the front door. He swings it open and finds Joseph waiting patiently, a grocery bag slung over his shoulder. He’s still in his suit; Barclay can just spot his black tie with little UFOs on it peeking out of his winter coat. 

“Dani said I should just come on up.” He slips off his shoes, revealing socks with Bigfoot on them, “and I brought some wine, and a fancy beer I found at Jenny Street Market, since I wasn’t sure what kind of soup it is.”

“My take on a traditional Irish stew, so let's do the beer.” Barclay grabs two pint glasses and pours as Joseph finishes hanging up his coat and joins him in the kitchen. He’s down to his dress shirt and slacks, eagerly rolling up his sleeves before taking the glass. 

“Right, what do we do first?”

Barclay takes a prolonged sip to avoid blurting out his real answer, then starts explaining that they need to figure out the right ratio of vegetable to lamb and which spices work best in the stock. 

They talk as they work, Joseph sharing his theories on the plausible plot twists in this season of _Agent X_ and Barclay teasing him whenever he gets going on a tangent about the monster of the week episodes. The easy back and forth, the warmth of the apartment as the air fills with spices and butter, the way the kitchen lights plays off Joseph’s face; it feels like a home, and his stomach twists whenever he remembers that the other man will leave in an hour or two. 

“Barclay, I have to ask; why the sudden zest for soup?” Joseph sets his glass down, still half full because they’re talking too much to drink more than a sip at a time. 

“Uhhh, just, uhh a good fit for a winter menu.” Barclay sets the lid onto the dutch oven; it’ll take at least forty-five minutes for this batch to thicken and develop flavor. When he hazards a glance at Joseph, the man is studying him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Is that all?”

He washes his hands to buy time to build up his courage, then sighs, “Nope. It started after the first time you ordered it. You just got so excited whenever I had a new soup of the day, and I liked making you feel that way, so I just kept finding or making new recipes I hoped you’d like. Heh” he rubs his wrist, anxious, “sounds hella weird when I say it out loud like that.”

Turning, he finds Joseph with his hands covering his mouth. 

“Fuck, sorry, probably shouldn’t have confessed that when we’re alone-”

“What? Oh, Barclay,” Joseph steps forward, taking his hands, “I’m not upset, I’m shocked. That’s, um, that’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me, going to all that trouble, you didn’t have to.” The words are a bit stuttery and jumbled, Joseph going pinker after each one. 

“I wanted to. I’d make a whole new menu every day if it’d make you smile that way.”

His lower back bangs into the counter as Joseph crowds him, fingers digging into his hair so roughly that it starts coming loose from its tie. He tastes like beer and stock he kept sampling, and Barclay licks it up, pressing his tongue between his welcoming lips, desperate to bring them as close together as possible. 

Joseph pulls away, resting their foreheads together, as he undoes Barclay’s shirt with ruthless efficiency, “Do you have _any_ idea how hot that is?”

“The...doing nice things for you part?” He cups Joseph’s cheeks, trailing his thumbs over the hints of five o’ clock shadow. 

“You went to all that trouble, just for me.” Joseph drags his mouth up Barclay’s neck as he continues, “just to make me happy.”

“I mean, made me happy too.” He mumbles into black hair.

“I’m trying to compliment you, big guy.” Joseph nips his bottom lip. 

“Oh fuck.” He whimpers at the nickname, at the way the other man doesn’t hesitate to shove his hands up his now-bare chest, demanding and adoring, “guess all those jokes about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach are true.”

“While the food helps, there’s so much more about you that I like. For instance” he drags his hands down to Barclay’s stomach before palming his hardening cock through his jean, “you’re the most handsome man in town.”

He whimpers louder this time, Joseph keeping up the light pressure on his cock. 

“Bedroom?” It’s both an encouragement and a question, the ton letting Barclay know he’s welcome to continue but not obligated to.

“The, can’t, can’t leave the stove unattended.” He gropes Joseph’s ass through his slacks, kisses his neck as he tries to calculate if turning off the stew will mess up the recipe. 

“I love how responsible you are.” It’s another compliment, a dead serious one, “and I have an idea.” He steps back, hurries over to the grocery bag, and pulls out a small, rectangular box. 

“I couldn’t tell if this was a date, so I decided to be on the safe side.” He surveys the kitchen, “feel like picking a surface to bend me over?”

Barclay practically knocks a stack of cookbooks off the tiny kitchen table, dragging a laughing Joseph over to shove him across it. 

“This okay?” He pants as he covers the back of his neck with kisses. 

“Better than okay. Barclay please, I’ve, um, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and basically non-stop for the last two hours.”

“Fucking-A” He’s amazed there isn’t a cartoonish _boi-oi-oing_ when he gets his pants and boxers down, his cock--his whole being, really--aching for the chance to fuck the man in front of him. Getting Joseph’s pants down takes two tries, and opening the condom takes three because he’s shaking so hard from excitement. 

“Need a hand, big guy?” 

“Nope. Just need this.” 

“FUCKohfuck, shit” Joseph reaches forward, gripping the far edge of the table as Barclay sinks into him, “ _yes_ , need it too, need you so bad.”

“You got me babe” he loops one arm around Joseph’s hips, sets his free hand next to his on the table for balance, “and I got you.” He starts slow, relishing every little sound he gets in reply to his thrusts, kissing any exposed skin he can find, then rucking Joseph’s shirt up his back to find more. 

Joseph’s hand moves down towards his cock, but Barclay gently guides it back onto the table, “No need to babe. Like I said, I got you.” 

He doesn't mean to start railing him the instant after his fingers find his cock. It’s more that feeling him soaking and hard, all because of (and all for) him, the grateful moan he lets out at the contact, the way he grinds his hips back and forth, it sets off every part of Barclay’s brain at once, and all he wants to do is take him, make him cum, break the fucking table showing him how much he wants him. 

“Ohmylord” Joseph gasps, raising his head, “oh my fucking--Barclay yes, like that, lord you don't disappoint.” His smile is ecstatic, more than the worlds clumsiest hand-job deserves, and Barclay forces his fingers to find their professional finesse, rub and stroke in the ways that make Joseph beg for more. 

He growls as he feels his orgasm building; not yet, no fucking way, he wants to feel Joseph cum around him. With Herculean effort, he stills his hips and focuses, growling again as Joseph tightens around him. When the man beneath him cums, the last of his restraint evaporates and he hammers into him, table scraping forward inch by inch in time with his grunts and Joseph’s weakening moans. 

His climax doubles him over, and he spills with a muffled moan, mouthing at Joseph’s shoulder through his shirt. 

Then his legs give, ten minutes of furious fucking after a ten hour shift enough for them to peace out. He lands with an “oof” on the floor, and Joseph is laughing again as he turns to stare down at him. 

“Are you okay down there?”

He gives a thumbs up, “Cute guy just shorted out all my circuits, no big.”

Joseph fixes his pants and shirt, joins him on the floor and pulls him into his arms, “I’d say it was very big.”

Barclay snickers, rests his head on his shoulder, “Walked into that one. Gimme sec, then I can make us some dinner. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“We’re not having soup?”

Barclay kisses his cheek, “Nah, you can have that for dinner tomorrow at the Lodge.”

Joseph’s smile is full of delicious trouble, “How about for breakfast?”

He holds him close, smiling at him, “Babe, you got yourself a deal.”


	11. In the Trees (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17\. i get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend, so…sorry about all the sex toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was almost titled "Little Red Riding Hoodie" until I remembered I wrote Indrid as wearing a black sweater.

Duck adores the way work does secret santa; random assignments, followed by dropping the gift off on the 20th. Simple and to the point, and no gathering where everyone is judging everyone else’s gift choices. 

Plus, this year he got Indrid as his person to buy for. He’s head of marketing and design for the Arboretum, and Duck’s been looking for new ways to help him feel welcome. He started up in February and is a little reclusive, seeming to think his work is so different from that of the rangers, gardeners, and researchers that they won’t want to talk with him. 

Duck finds him fascinating, if a bit weird. They worked together to design new promotional art featuring native prairie plants, and Indrid soaked up everything Duck told him. And it’s remarkable to see the familiar ecosystem come to life through a new set of eyes. Light brown, curious eyes that Duck’s sensed watching him appreciatively from time to time. No harm there, Duck’s stolen more than a few peeks at Indrid when the artist is otherwise occupied.

So, yeah, he’s glad the gift gives him another way of making Indrid feel like he’s a part of the team.

When he steps through the office door, Indrid perks up, spinning in his chair. 

“Good morning Duck! You caught me just in time, I have to take Thacker his gift.”

“Ain’t that a coincidence. Here” he produces the flat, rectangular box wrapped in pine tree paper, “Santa’s makin an early delivery.”

Indrid flaps his hands with a delighted smile, so Duck sets the box down on his desk. 

“Thank you so much, Duck. I have a meeting right after seeing Thacker so I can’t open it now-”

“No big deal, man. Just wanted to get it to you in case you were runnin around all day. Merry Christmas, ‘Drid.”

That smile follows him all the way to his office, then out into the freshly snow-covered woods. Indrid always seems so happy to see him. Unlike some people.

He checks his phone. Still no texts. He left Jason’s present on his front porch, some part o him hoping that it would strike the right balance between “it’s cool if we stay friends with benefits” and “but I would really like something more serious. Really. Would it kill you to go on an actual date?”

It’s not like the other guy isn’t willing to demand lots of Duck’s time and energy. It’s just that whenever Duck needs even a smidge of the same, he’s nowhere to be found. 

As he’s eating lunch, his phone buzzes. 

_J: Dropped wrapped box back at your place. Been leading up to this for awhile, but I’m gonna end things. I know a cuffing move when I see one._

Well, that explains the lack of contact for three weeks. 

He groans, closes his thermos. Has be really been that desperate for romance that he spent all this energy on a guy who acts twenty-five rather than thirty-five? It’s not that much to ask, right? He just wants someone who thinks he’s worth their time, who likes talking with him, who wants to get to know all the messy, overgrown parts of him. 

_Ding_

It’s an email from Indrid, asking if Duck will stop by his office after he locks up the visitor center so Indrid can thank him for the gift.

He responds in the affirmative, soothes his bruised ego for a few more minutes, and then dives back into his reports on the health of the Lost Forest section.

By the time he locks up, the only cars in the parking lot are his truck and Indrid’s VW Van. He heads to the lower floor and follows the clicking of a keyboard to Indrid’s office. 

“Hello, Duck.” Indrid ushers him in, shutting the door behind the ranger, “I’m glad you didn’t have to rush off. Please, ah, have a seat.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk, which he then leans back against. Duck could be imagining it, but it looks as if his usually messy, dyed silver hair has been brushed down. And he’s not in the thick coat and hat he wears on his way out the door at the end of the day; he’s still in his black cardigan and light green shirt, black pants showcasing the long lines of his legs. 

“I, ah, I really like the gift, Duck. And I was, ah, was wondering if you’d like to go get dinner before we make use of it.”

“Uh, how would we both use a sweater?” Duck’s heart ping-pongs between his throat and his stomach. 

“……What sweater?” Indrid’s eyes are wide behind his red glasses. 

“Aw fuck” Duck drops his head into his hands, “knew I shoulda bought more wrappin paper.”

“To be certain I am understanding correctly, this is not what you meant to give me?” Indrid bites his lip, tilting the box so Duck can see the contents. 

“Yeah, I did not mean to give my coworker a vibrator and a fuckin paddle.” He flops his head back, covering his face with his hands. Maybe he can hide like this until Indrid leaves or the world chooses to mercifully strike him dead. 

“Oh.” Indrid puts the lid back on the box, “it was for someone else. That makes more sense.”

He sounds sad, and that’s a million times worse than if he were angry or mocking. There has to be a way for Duck to salvage this. 

“Uh, you can keep ‘em. If, uh, if you want. Person I got ‘em for don’t wanna see me anymore.”

“I don’t have much use for them on my own. Well, I suppose this could be fun” he picks up the vibrating plug, one that can sync to music, speech, or an app, “but not as fun as it would with someone else controlling it.”

“You tellin me there ain’t someone chompin at the bit to get you into bed?”

“I’m not really anyone’s type.”

“You’re mine. Fuck. I, uh, I mean, uh-”

“Duck, while you recently got dumped, I assure you, you can do better than me.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I thought about you way more in the last month than I thought about him.” 

Indrid’s eyebrows leap up his head. Then his expression does a series of acrobatics, landing on disbelief. His friend looks down at the floor, arms crossed comfortingly around his stomach.

Duck stands, the few feet between them as charged and uncertain as a crumbling cliff edge. Carefully, he sets his hands on Indrid’s shoulders. 

“‘Drid, is there somethin you been meanin to tell me?”

“I like you a lot, Duck. And I find you painfully attractive.” Indrid refuses to look up, not even when Duck rests a hand on his cheek.

“Why didn’t you say anythin sooner?”

“I didn’t think you felt the same way.” 

Duck guides his face so they’re looking at each other, takes a deep breath, and leans up to kiss him. 

A fluttery sigh as Indrid’s hands settle on Duck’s body, starting on his hips and then boldly slipping into his back pockets. He keeps the kiss slow and chaste, holds off on parting his lips or nipping at the curves of Indrid’s mouth. Duck’s never had to reassure someone with a kiss before and he’s not going to fuck it up. 

He shifts forward, encouraging Indrid’s exploration of his body, and accidentally presses the taller man into the desk, pinning him. Indrid “eeps” into the kiss, going rigid in Duck’s arms.

“Fuck, sorry” Duck tries stepping back, only for Indrid to grab his ass, keeping them chest to chest. 

“Don’t be.”

Duck considers the flush crawling up Indrid’s neck and the hopeful look hiding behind his glasses. He sets a hand on each bony hip and gives a short, sharp shove, growling a little. Indrid moans, louder this time, and yanks him into a kiss by his hair. When he lets go Duck gulps for air before biting his ear

“You like it when I’m mean, sugar?”

“Like does not even begin describing it.”

“Here I thought I was gonna have to romance you some.”

“I am in favor of romance as well.” Indrid wriggles his hips, grin wide and eager. As much as Duck wants a look at the cock currently hardening against his thigh, he has an even better idea. 

“Think I can do both. It’s real clear tonight, whole place’ll look amazing with a full moon on the snow. Howsabout you and me take a little walk?”

“That sounds-”

“With you wearin this the whole time.” He whacks the gift box towards Indrid.

“-Perfect. Give, give me one moment.” Indrid grabs the plug and one of the packets of lube Duck put in it for courtesy and dashes from the room. Duck downloads an app onto his phone, and holds Indrid’s coat open for him when he gets back. 

As they set off down one of the short loop trails, he casually asks, “you turn it on?”

“Of courseAHhnn” Indrid shudders, stumbling on his next step. 

“You know much about that model?”

“I aAAAhhsumed it’s remote controlled”

“It is” Duck pulls his phone out, shows Indrid the corresponding app, “but it syncs to music too and, uh” he smirks, leans closer to the phone, “speech.”

Indrid yelps as the toy buzzes again. Duck happens to know it has multiple speeds and a thrust function, and he wants to know just how Indird looks when those kick on at the same time. But he pauses, waiting to see if Indrid needs to stop and go back inside.

“In, in that case” he flicks a strand of hair from his face, “why don’t you tell me about the nest you’ve been watching.”

Duck takes his arm, guiding them along the path and explaining all about the Great Horned Owl nest he’s spotted, and how he’s not sure why it’s occupied right now since nesting season isn’t for months for that species. He keeps his phone in his free hand the entire time to better pick up his voice. Indrid nods, doing his best to listen, but by the time the hit the clearing in question he’s having a hard time walking. When he’s busy looking at the stars, Duck finds the button on the app to turn on the thrusting function.

“FUCK!” Indrid hunches forward, bracing on a tree trunk, “ohgoodness, that’s, that’s so good.” He’s working his hips and ass against nothing,whimpers filling the night air. 

“Yeah? You like the fact I can fuck you without even touchin you?” 

Indrid whines, manages to turn around and lean on the trunk, right hand frantically pawing his crotch. 

“Keep your fuckin hands off you dick.”

The whine jumps several notes in the scale as Indrid slams his palms flat on the bark, face turned pleadingly to the sky and hips jerking helplessly in a futile search for friction. He looks so debauched and just a little out of place, the sweet little artist who strayed too far into the woods and is at the mercy of the big, bad, wolf. 

This big bad wolf has no interest in mercy. 

“Lookit you. Gonna make a mess of yourself just from some teasin.”

“This is haAArdly teasing, oh, ohgod.”

“I’d say it counts. I mean, I may not let you cum at all.”

“Please” The whimper gives way to a sob, Indrid thoroughly cornered against the tree as Duck lunges forward.

“You’re on my turf now, sugar, so you don’t get to make a demand. We’re gonna do this my way, and I ain’t decided if that means leavin you to walk back hard or to make you cum so many times you make a mess of those pants and gotta drive home wearin a reminder of how fuckin needy you are when it comes to my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyes” Indrid tries to grind forward enough to hump him. Duck drops his phone in his pocket, figuring it’ll still pick up enough, and traps his hips back. 

“Yesss, Duck, sweetheart, please, please kiss me.”

“Can’t do that and talk at the same time.” Duck rips off one glove.

“BuMPHmmmmm” Indrid hums around the fingers in his mouth, still writhing weakly against Duck’s hold. He has to be close, and Duck is harder than diamond.

The wolf pounces. 

He spins Indrid away from the tree and brings him gracelessly to the ground, climbing atop him and working his hips hard, rutting against his trapped dick. Indrid’s feet kick in the snow and he clings to him, babbling as Duck chases his orgasm.

“So good, so good sweetheart, please, please I’m going to cum-”

“If you cum before I finish I’m fuckin leavin you here.” 

“I can’t, it’s, it’s so much, I’ll make it up to you, oh, oh Duck, AHhnnn” Indrid tenses under him, cumming with a cry.

“Fuck it” He grunts, grinding as hard as he can even as Indrid squirms from the overstimulation beneath him. It’s not always easy for him to cum like this, but goddamnit he’s soaked his boxers and Indrid is still here, willing and submissive, taking whatever Duck gives him, letting the beast in the trees have his fill. 

He cums with a gasp, dropping forward as it races through him. Over the rush in his ears, Indrid is murmuring sweetly, telling him how wonderful it was. 

Why are his knees so fucking cold?

Oh, right, the snow.

With a groan he sits up, standing on wobbly legs and helping Indrid up. When the other man whimpers he fumbles his phone, turning the toy off.

“C’mon, let’s go back and warm up.”

Indrid grins, looping their arms together and leaning against him. It’s not just the post-orgasm haze that has him giddy; he realizes he feels like this whenever he and Indrid are together.

“‘Drid will, uh, will you come home with me?”

“I have an alternate proposition. I need to change my clothes, and need to feed the mischief at home. How about you meet me at Blue Plate in an hour? After all, I did promise you a date.”

Duck brushes snow from Indrid’s hair as the taller man embraces him. Indrid is watching him, and it’s the first time a long while that Duck’s felt fully seen. 

“You did, didn’t you.” He sighs, resting his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

“Is that a …yes?”

He tips his head up, kissing Indrid’s cheek, “Yep. It’s a date.”


End file.
